


Go For Broke

by helloearthlings



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, F/M, First Meetings, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gaslighting, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: Emily's apartment is haunted, Ben and Jack are the local Ghostbusters knockoff, and Sammy absolutely, positively, 100% doesn't believe in ghosts.Really. He doesn't.





	1. Who Ya Gonna Call?

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't gonna start another chaptered fic. This was going to be something short. And fun. This was the plan.
> 
> Currently I'm predicting three chapters coming out to about 25k, and with a lot more actual emotional content than initially planned for a ridiculous cracky concept. But I love this AU a lot and am super excited to write in it!!! No warnings for this chapter, though I'll probs include some warnings in the second and third. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading, and hopefully it won't be long before I have the next part done!

Sammy gets to Emily’s by ten. He has to park a couple blocks down. She’s texted to say she’ll get him a parking spot in the morning. She says it’s not very expensive.

She’s planning on him staying. That’s nice, he thinks. That’s nice of her. Sammy doesn’t know if he deserves nice right now, but what else would he expect from Emily? Emily’s the best person he knows. Of course she’d be good to him - it’s what she does.

He buzzes up to her apartment, and by the time he climbs the staircase, she’s waiting in the hallway. 

“Hey,” Sammy says, careful, his voice purposefully not shaking. Emily’s staring at him like she’s looking for some kind of sign that something horrible happened, her eyes wide and some kind of terrified. 

“Hi,” Emily finally says, smiling a little, but Sammy can already see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

“Emily, don’t -” Sammy starts, not quite sure how he wants to finish. Don’t make a big deal out of this? Don’t look at me like that? Don’t make me talk about this? Don’t cry, please don’t cry? 

“Do you have any more bags?” Emily interrupts, very gentle, as if she knows what’s going on in his head. Honestly, she probably does. 

“Uh, no,” Sammy shifts from one foot to another. It’s telling that he only has two bags. A year of living in that house and the things that are unquestionably  _ his  _ fit in two duffle bags. “This is it.”

“Well, come on in,” Emily says, stepping back in her apartment, and Sammy follows. “I’ve got the pullout couch ready. I’m sorry I don’t have a second bedroom -”

“It’s fine,” Sammy interrupts. “Really, Emily ,this is more than enough.”

“Alright,” Emily says quietly, obviously not really believing it. Her apartment is small but cozy, and it’s so clear that it’s hers, the fairy lights strung over the fridge, the bookcases taking up a full wall, more books stacked precariously where the bookcases ran out of room to house all of them. There’s a fuzzy green rug that takes up most of the floor, and a poster that’s a map of the world behind the TV. 

Her cat, Beatrice, comes up and rubs at Sammy’s legs. Sammy ducks down to scratch behind her ears, and she purrs at him.

It would take Emily a lot more than two duffle bags to move out of this apartment. Sammy knows that wasn’t always the case, and it’s somehow comforting - but still not, because he knows Emily’s a much better person than he is, and she worked hard to get to this place in her life.

“Do you want to just go to sleep?” Emily asks, the epitome of gentleness, crossing the room to put a soft hand on his elbow. “Or should we stay up and watch a movie or something?”

She’s letting him decide, which Sammy supposes is a good thing, letting him think he can control something. 

“I’m just gonna sleep if that’s alright,” Sammy decides, mostly out of wanting to avoid any questions from Emily about the details of what had happened. Not that she’d make him share them or anything. She’s too careful for that.

“Okay,” Emily says, and then she hugs him. It’s sweet of her. She’s always been a better friend than Sammy deserves.

Of course Sammy can’t sleep, but Beatrice jumps onto his chest and starts purring, and petting her distracts him from his thoughts.

* * *

Two weeks later and Sammy still can’t sleep, though it has less to do with his thoughts and more to do with - well, the apartment. 

Sammy’s not quite sure what the problem is, and obviously isn’t going to tell Emily about it. But it’s - weird. 

At first, it was that he couldn’t get the cold out. Despite the fact that it was May, that it never got bitterly cold here anyway, that Emily had fourteen million blankets to choose from, he couldn’t stop shivering. 

He chalks it up to something like trauma - not that he was calling what happened traumatic or anything. But it was something that needed recovery from, sure, and maybe there would be physical side effects.

He kept finding the window open, thought maybe that was it, but then one night when he was staring at the television instead of sleeping, the window flew open all on its own. 

And did again and again - Sammy would close it, and five minutes later it would open again, creaking like the first shot of a horror movie.

Then the thumping started, like something was stuck in the floorboards. There was a rhythm to it, the window creaking, then thumps, the window swinging even when there was no breeze outside, and more thumps. This was the third floor - floorboards of the Edgar Allen Poe variety really shouldn’t be possible.

But the thumping continued all the same. Sammy would’ve brushed it off as noisy neighbors, but the combination of that  _ and  _ the window - 

And then the fucking music started, like there was a club half a block away that only played creepy classical music designed to scare the fuck out of Sammy. And the kitchen cabinets started swinging and creaking just like the window.

The lights flickered. It started with just the overhead lights, but then the lamp started it as well. And then the fairy lights in the kitchen, one by one.

How the fuck was this apartment the worst version of a haunted house ever?

Sammy isn’t going to bring it up to Emily - she presumably doesn’t know, or she would have said something. Besides, Sammy doesn’t believe in ghosts. He believes in faulty hinges, bad neighbors, and his mind playing tricks on him. 

But then one night, Sammy’s sitting up on the couch because he’s definitely not sleeping with the creepy classical music louder than ever tonight, something that sounds like something Jack from the Nightmare Before Christmas would play on a ghostly piano, and hugging Beatrice to his chest because even though he doesn’t believe in ghosts, he also doesn’t want Beatrice to full into the thumping floorboards and get eaten up by Zuul.

Not that he believes in ghosts. Because that would be stupid.

But Emily comes out of her room in the middle of the ghostly solo, pulling on a pink sweatshirt over her pajamas as she says “Hey, what’s that noise -?”

She stops short when she sees her cupboard doors all slam shut at the same time and she practically jumps out of her skin, gasping in surprise.

She turns to Sammy, slowly, with wide eyes, her mouth falling open as if to say  _ what the hell? _

“They do that,” Sammy tells her, petting Beatrice’s head, a little relieved that she’s seen it so he doesn’t have to try to explain this.

“They do?” Emily asks, crossing the room to sit on the couch next to Sammy. He shifts out of the way to make room. “Every night?” 

Sammy nods. “I think so. At least since I’ve been here. But there’s more.”

“More?” Emily reaches over to pat Beatrice as well, her gaze very concerned, both at Sammy and as she surveys the apartment carefully, probably waiting for something to jump out. 

“A  _ lot  _ more,” Sammy says. 

Emily stays up with him and watches the apartment run through its usual gambit - the music plays as the floor thumps in beat with it, the lights flicker in time as well, the window slams and opens and slams again without the two of them so much as touching it, the cupboards make a kind of song of their own, and Sammy can see Emily’s shivering just as much as he is.

“How’d I never notice this?” Emily finally asks, hours later as the sun starts to rise and the music fades with it. There was a new fun twist tonight, with Emily there, where her kitchen appliances started turning on all on their own. “I don’t think this happens in my room, but - God, how did I not  _ know _ ? And more importantly, how the hell is it happening?”

Sammy shrugs. “You could call maintenance.”

“Or the Ghostbusters,” Emily says with a laugh, and then stops short. “Hey - wait just one second!”

She stands, obviously heading in the direction of her bedroom, and comes back with her laptop a moment later, depositing Beatrice into Sammy’s lap to make room for the computer. 

“I was listening to the radio the other day - I don’t remember the station, not yours though, I was just flipping through the dials on my commute,” Emily says, sounding somewhat excited as she types  _ Boulder CO Not Venkman’s Ghostly Dispensation.  _ “And I heard an ad for these guys. Apparently they go to haunted -”

“It’s not haunted,” Sammy interrupts and Emily raises an eyebrow at him.

“What’s your all-natural explanation, then?” Emily says, hiding a grin. 

“Just because I can’t explain it doesn’t mean it’s ghosts,” Sammy defends, mainly because he really  _ can’t  _ explain whatever the hell this is. “Human perception is faulty -”

Emily waves a hand at him, she’s obviously known him long enough to be aware that Sammy can’t bring himself to believe in anything that he can’t see. 

“They have appointment bookings on their website!” Emily says excitedly, and Sammy peers over her shoulder to see a brightly colored template that seems incongruous with ghostbusting. He’d expect a website decked out in black and grey with ghostly graphics from the early 2000s. 

“Do we  _ really  _ need shitty, local Mission Apparition to come to our apartment?” Sammy groans, and then feels a little guilty at saying  _ our  _ even though Emily grins at him. He knows she wants to put him on her lease, and he knows he’ll probably agree to it eventually. 

“Mission Apparition stage everything and you know it,” Emily says and Sammy replies with an eye roll and a  _ duh.  _ “But these guys are lowkey, obviously not in it for the fame or the money -”

“There’s probably not great money in ghostbusting,” Sammy says, trying to joke but Emily just grins smugly like he’s proving her point. 

“I’m booking an appointment,” Emily declares. “What does your Friday night look like?”

“Do I even have to be here?” Sammy groans, then says “I’m free, obviously, but -”

“Well, you’ve seen more than I have, you should be here to tell them about what you’ve seen,” Emily says, then frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I knew you weren’t sleeping, but I figured it was just-”

“You didn’t know, and I didn’t want to seem - I don’t know, ungrateful, or -” Sammy tries to justify it, and wishes Emily would stop looking at him with pity. 

“It’s not ungrateful to say you have a problem,” Emily says very slowly, shifting to put her head on Sammy’s shoulder, sighing. Sammy lets her, and it feels kind of nice, having her close like that, not that he’s comfortable with feeling nice. “I know we haven’t talked much about - well - but you know you can tell me anything, right?”

Sammy hums in assent and Emily asks “Have you seen that therapist at all? She’s really good. After everything that happened with Greg - well, she helped a lot.”

Sammy’s stomach churns unpleasantly. “I - no. No, I haven’t. But I - I will. One of these days.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Emily says quietly, then her tone becomes brisker as she opens an appointment slot on the ghostbusting website. “I’m guessing this only happens at night so - how about Friday at 8:30?” 

“I guess,” Sammy gives in, wondering just how weird this is going to be. Still, he’d love to be able to sleep through the night - even though he thinks the supposedly ghostly happenings are probably just a convenient excuse as to why he can’t sleep. 

At least now he knows it’s not all happening inside his own head. 

* * *

Sammy gets back from work just past eight Friday night and by the time he gets up to his apartment - well, Emily’s apartment that might be becoming his - there’s two guys he doesn’t know in his kitchen. One of them is talking to Emily, who’s laughing at something he says.

Sammy shoves his hands in his pockets, already hating both of them and this entire situation. 

“Hey, you must be Sammy,” the taller one turns to him with a smile as Sammy uses his foot to slam the door behind him. “I’m Jack Wright.”

He’s reaching out a hand to shake. Sammy takes it, and does that pseudo-masculine thing he’s always hated where he tries to crush the guy’s hand. It’s literally the worst, but Sammy hasn’t really had to spend time with anyone who wasn’t Emily or his producer Mary Jensen in the past month, and it’s made him jumpy and protective.

Especially since the guys are alone with Emily, in her apartment, which just makes Sammy’s hackles raise. He doesn’t really have it in him to put a lot of trust in anyone right now, but especially anyone in close vicinity to Emily. 

“Nice to meet you,” Sammy says, making himself use his professional radio voice so as not to offend anyone. Jack’s smiling at him, and it’s a little disarming since he’s so handsome. He’s got dimples and windswept hair. Sammy doesn’t trust people, he especially doesn’t trust men, and he very much so doesn’t trust handsome men, of which Jack Wright is all three. 

“Hey, I’m Ben,” the other guy pipes up, and Sammy’s a little off-put by him too, though that’s less to do with handsomeness than how small Ben is. Emily’s got at least a couple inches on him, but when Ben shakes Sammy’s hand it’s with the kind of strength and enthusiasm that Sammy doesn’t think he’s ever been able to manage. “Super nice to meet you! You look kind  of familiar, do I know you from somewhere?”

“Um,” Sammy says, not quite sure where he should go from there since he doesn’t think he recognizes Ben. Thankfully, Jack interrupts with an eye roll.

“Calm down, Ben,” Jack says, affection clear in his voice before turning to Sammy with a shake of his head. “My partner, Ben Arnold. He’s very enthusiastic, if you couldn’t tell.”

“They got here just before you did,” Emily pipes up, her smile a little too enthusiastic as well. “I was just asking how they came up with their business’s name.”

“What happened was Jack got his way,” Ben laughs. “He wanted something sardonic and tongue-in-cheek, hence the  _ Not Venkman.  _ And then he wanted something that made us sound like professionals, hence the  _ Ghostly Dispensation.  _ I think that’s  _ boring  _ and  _ derivative  _ and they’re not ghosts anyway, they’re apparitions.”

“And I said that unless Ben wanted us constantly confused with his least favorite TV show, we couldn’t use the word apparition at all,” Jack grins and Ben rolls his eyes. “He likes the name, he just won’t admit it to me.”

“I’ll never admit that you’re right, never ever,” Ben says solemnly and they both laugh. Emily joins them. 

“So it’s just the two of you, then?” Sammy interrupts and they both nod.

“Shockingly, there aren’t many people who want to work for us,” Jack laughs. “That’s alright, we can handle the workload on our own. It’s only part-time anyway, and mostly at night, since that’s when the ghosts come out to play.”

“ _ Apparitions,”  _ Ben corrects and Jack rolls his eyes good-naturedly. 

“Ben’s been a believer longer than I have, he knows all the lingo,” Jack says, looking at Sammy as if they’re sharing an inside joke. Sammy doesn’t know the guy, but tries to smile a bit so as not to alienate him. “Anyway, enough about us - how about you guys tell us about your problem here?”

“Well, it started - I’m not sure when,” Emily starts to explain. “Sammy moved in about a month ago, and he started noticing it - right when he got here, right?”

“Pretty much,” Sammy says, trying to remember back. “In the first few days for sure.”

“What happens doesn’t affect my bedroom,” Emily explains. “Sammy’s sleeping out here on the couch, so I think it’s limited to just the living room and kitchen. I guess it could be the bathroom, but I haven’t seen anything there.”

Emily begins to list all of the different phenomenons in the apartment, Ben and Jack obviously both listening attentively until she finishes. 

“Hmm,” Ben squints past her at the apartment. “I mean, it seems like a very classic example of a haunting. But we usually don’t see so many different symptoms all at once.”

“Symptoms?” Sammy can’t help but snort and Emily gives him a look. “Are we diagnosing the apartment with strep throat?”

“It’s a better way of looking at it,” Jack explains as if he has a million times before. “We’re not here to hunt ghosts or anything trite like that. Hauntings are usually psychological. We don’t want to capture ghosts or kill them again - we want them to leave of their own volition. Usually, there’s something tying them to a place or a person, and they need to choose to move on. If they’re violent and dangerous, we have methods to use to remove them. But really, it’s more about finding out who the ghost is, and how we can get them to  _ choose  _ to leave this plane of existence.”

“So I’m guessing you didn’t bring proton packs?” Sammy tries for joking and thankfully Jack and Ben both smile. 

“A common misconception that Mission Apparition’s dumbass TV show plagues us with weekly,” Ben explains and Sammy can tell from the look on Jack’s face as he glare at Ben is  _ don’t swear in front of the clients.  _ “But yeah, we call the phenomena symptoms because it’s like - the apparition only stays on this plane because it’s sick. There’s something wrong, something preventing it from moving on, and the ghostly shenanigans are how they make themselves known. We treat the source, not the symptoms, get the apparition well enough to move on.”

“Ghost doctors,” Sammy says sardonically, lips twitching. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Sorry about him,” Emily interrupts with an affectionate sigh in Sammy’s direction. “He’s very skeptical. Didn’t even tell me about what was happening for weeks.”

“Well, you’re the first person to notice - when you moved in, right?” Ben asks him, kind of bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So maybe the apparition is tied to the apartment - but it could also be tied to  _ you _ .”

“It’s not my fault!” Sammy says defensively and Ben quickly puts his hands up.

“Dude, I’m not saying it is,” Ben says. “I’m just saying that the apparition could be following you and not necessarily tied to the apartment. Did anything similar happen where you lived before? Could it have followed you from there?”

_ Ghost of a shitty ex,  _ Sammy can’t help but think, even though that’s obviously not the answer. Ryan isn’t dead, even if Sammy daydreams about killing him with a shovel sometimes. 

“No,” Sammy says, purposefully not looking at Emily who probably has that concerned look in her eye that Sammy is grateful for but also can’t stand to see. “Nothing like this.”

“Has anyone ever died in this apartment?” Ben asks, thankfully diverting the subject, and Emily shakes her head.

“Not that I know of,” Emily tells him. “Though I guess it’s possible.”

“It could also be that someone who lived here died somewhere else and they’re still tied here,” Jack explains. “It’s an older apartment building, after all. It’s likely the culprit here and not either of you. Well, the sun’s setting - is this the time the symptoms usually start?”

“A little later, usually,” Sammy says. “But I think it varies.”

“Well, how about we get out the EMF meter and see if we can get any readings,” Jack says, and Ben immediately starts busying himself with one of the two backpacks on the kitchen floor. 

Sammy leans against the fridge and semi-listens to Jack and Ben as they talk quietly in a lingo Sammy isn’t entirely sure he understands. Emily comes over to lean next to him, their arms brushing. 

“Thanks for being good,” Emily says quietly. “I know this isn’t exactly your comfort zone -”

Sammy wonders if she means believing in ghosts or letting people into his space, figuring that it’s probably some combination of both. 

“But maybe they’ll find something,” Emily finishes, voice hopeful. Sammy still doesn’t believe in ghosts, but maybe whatever’s happening here can be lessened by what happens tonight, even if these guys can’t make a sick ghost well, or whatever the analogy was. 

“Hey, I’m getting something,” Ben declares after ten or fifteen minutes of moving around the apartment with an antenna-like device. “Jack, get the Spirit Box out.”

Ben starts asking a little box that resembles a radio a bunch of questions, but Sammy’s tuning it out since it seems like nothing is really happening. 

“Hmm,” Ben says, leaning back on his heels. “I’m still getting something for sure. How about the glitter?”

“What?” Sammy asks, tuning back in with a frown. “Sorry, glitter?”

“Most spirits will try to talk,” Jack explains as he gets a literal fucking vial of sparkling glitter out of one of their bags. “And that’s when we use the Spirit Box. But we’ve run into beings who can’t vocalize anything, and if you give them something physical to cling onto, they can manifest that way. And we’ve found that nothing clings better than some glitter.”

“That’s gonna be on the floor for weeks,” Sammy says, vaguely alarmed.

“Bill us your cleaning fees,” Ben says cheerfully, not missing a beat as he dumps the vial on the hardwood floor of the kitchen. “As you can tell, we’re obviously not in this for the money.”

“Well, at least it’s unique,” Sammy mutters under his breath. “Never seen Mission Apparition use glitter before.”

Ben practically beams at him, even though it was barely a compliment, as he messes around with a different device in his hands that Sammy hasn’t heard the name of yet. 

“Hey,” Ben says quietly to the glitter, which is kind of a funny image. “How’s it going tonight? My name’s Ben. I’m not here to hurt you, just ask you a few questions. Is that alright?”

Sammy’s about to tune out again, but then the window on the other side of the room starts to creak open. 

Jack and Ben exchange an excited look as Sammy feels a vage spike of alarm. He has a bad feeling about this.

“I’ve got something for you,” Ben says, enthusiasm leaking through his voice as he spreads the glitter out with his hand. “So we can see that you’re here. If you want to come over here, I can show you.”

All the cupboard doors fly open at once, banging against one another, and Sammy winces. But both Ben and Jack gape up in surprise, Ben’s mouth falling open in a perfect ‘o’, even though Emily had explained what the cupboards did before. Well, it was different to see it than to hear about it.

“Does that...happen often?” Jack turns to Sammy and Emily, who both nod. It’s not particularly reassuring that the professional ghost people are so surprised by what’s happening. 

“Right here, right here,” Ben says into the antenna, moving away from the glitter now instead of getting closer. “If you’ll just let us see that you’re here, maybe we can try to help you.”

Sammy doesn’t really expect anything to happen except maybe some thumping in the floor or the music to start playing, but his heart practically stops when the glitter slowly begins to move.

First, it’s just sliding across the floor, and Sammy’s thinking- well, these guys found a way to put some magnets in the floor, what a scam, get them the hell out of here. But then the glitter starts to pile together, growing higher and higher off the floor. Emily’s nails dig into Sammy’s arm. 

Ben slowly stands to face the glitter as it floats in the air, seemingly unconnected to anything but itself, and Sammy still doesn’t believe in ghosts but - goddamn.

“Hi,” Ben says breathlessly. “Gosh, it’s - it’s so nice to meet you. Like I said. My name’s Ben. This is Jack. And I’m sure you already know Sammy and Emily.  I can get my box back out if you want to try to tell me your name, but I don’t think you like the box very much. So I’ll just ask yes or no questions. If the answer is yes, come closer to me. If the answer is no, move away. Do you understand?”

Again, Sammy isn’t expecting anything to happen, but the pile of glitter shifts again, traveling slightly in the space of the kitchen in the direction of Ben, who grins. Jack steps around it to stand next to Ben, looking at the glitter attentively. 

“Alright,” Ben says excitedly. “Is this your apartment?”

The glitter shifts backwards, and Ben and Jack share a look. Sammy feels a sinking feeling in his chest.

“Okay, so...do you know either Sammy or Emily here?” Ben gestures towards the two of them, and Sammy wishes he wouldn’t, but thankfully, again the glitter moves backwards. 

“Hmm,” Ben says, frowning. “Is there something keeping you here?”

Again, the glitter moves backward. 

“This is a weird apparition,” Ben says, a frown on his face as he messes with a dial. “Do you -”

“Let me try something,” Jack interrupts, his forehead creasing as he frowns. “ _ Why  _ are you here?”

“Dude, that’s not a yes or no -” Ben starts, but then the glitter moves again, and it isn’t toward or away from Ben.

Instead, the glitter travels at a much faster speed than before, stopping short when it reaches the fridge.

Reaches Sammy.

Sammy stares at Ben and Jack through the shroud of glitter that’s around his head and he feels somewhat like he’s going to throw up.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Sammy asks, and it’s as if he’s broken a spell. The glitter falls back onto the floor around him like nothing ever happened.

“Oh my god,” Ben’s device thing clatters to the ground. “Holy shit, I’ve never seen anything like that before!”

“ _ Ben _ ,” Jack says, putting a hand on Ben’s shoulder as he looks at Sammy concerned. “Well, I think we have an answer of what’s tying the apparition here.”

“Do we, though?” Emily says, her voice hushed. “I mean, it said  _ no  _ when you asked if it knew us.”

“I thought that question was too vague,” Jack says, trading a look with Ben. “You don’t have to know an apparition for it to be haunting you. And the apparition can always lie. But I thought - well - if I was that direct, and the two of you were right here - it was a hunch.”

“Has anything like this ever happened before you moved in here?” Ben asks Sammy with a cock of his head.

“No, never,” Sammy says emphatically, still feeling a bit sick to his stomach even though he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“Has anyone in your life died recently?” Ben asks. “Not necessarily someone you’re close to but - but a coworker, or a distant family member, or even just someone in an article you read. Any exposure at all to death recently?”

“ _ No _ ,” Sammy says again and Jack shoots Sammy a sympathetic look. “I keep telling you, this hasn’t happened before! Didn’t you just say the ghost could lie?”

“Good point,” Ben nods very seriously, then turns to Jack. “Experiment - Sammy spends the night somewhere else. That’s the only way to know for sure if it’s tied primarily to him or primarily the apartment.”

“I’m not getting a hotel just for a ghostly experiment,” Sammy says, starting to feel a bit like he’s losing control, or spiraling out of it, whichever is worse.

“Oh, it’s cool, you can stay at my place or something,” Ben says as if that’s something you say to a stranger, and Jack seems to realize that from the look on Sammy’s face.

“I’m sorry about Ben,” Jack says with a groan, putting a casual arm around Ben’s shoulder that Ben tries to squirm out of. “He’s a harmless golden retriever, but he doesn’t quite know what boundaries are.”

“Dude, I’m being nice!” Ben says before turning to Sammy with a bit of an anxious look on his face. “I mean - whatever you wanna do, I’m just saying it’s an option.”

“ _ How about _ ,” Jack says emphatically, “we just let Sammy and Emily decide what they want to do. They might not want to do any of this.”

“Well, we need to do  _ something _ ,” Emily says, though her look at Sammy says he can disagree if he wants to. “One of you can stay here with me and see what happens here in the apartment, and Sammy can go with the other one of you to see if it happens somewhere else. If that’s alright.”

“Yeah, of course -” Ben starts but Sammy interrupts.

“I don’t really have a problem with staying at Ben’s or Jack’s or whatever,” Sammy says slowly, because even though he isn’t exactly a fan of strangers, his fear over this fucking glitter ghost thing going away  _ is  _ more important right now. “But I don’t really like the idea of leaving you alone here with a stranger.”

Jack opens his mouth to reply, but Emily cuts him off with another one of those sympathetic looks at Sammy. 

“Hey, we’re paying them, we  _ hired  _ them,” Emily says, smiling. “You wouldn’t freak out over me being here with a plumber, would you?” 

“That’s a little different, it’s late at night -” Sammy starts, but Jack interrupts.

“It doesn’t need to be a whole night affair,” Jack says. “Just long enough to see if the apparition appears in either place. How about we plan on meeting later on tonight? There’s a twenty-four hour diner right near here, and my place is close by. We can meet there at say, two in the morning. That gives the apparition plenty of time to appear in either location.”

“Okay,” Sammy says slowly, and Emily touches his arm lightly as if to say to stop worrying so much, but Sammy can’t help it. 

“I’ll call Ron if there’s a problem,” Emily says quietly. “He’s always up this time of night and he’s right downstairs. I’ll be fine. Will  _ you  _ be okay?”

Sammy hates that she even has to ask. Because Emily knows, of course she knows that Sammy doesn’t trust anybody right now. But Sammy doesn’t have the same things to fear from men as Emily does - Sammy really just needs to be scared of the one. For Emily, any guy could be another Greg. Even if Ben and Jack both seem like nice people.

“I’m fine,” Sammy tells her, squeezing her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll leave Ben with you, Emily,” Jack says, cracking a bit of a smile. “He won’t ever try anything - but if he did, he’s so small you could probably take him.”

“I’m not going to protest that, because I really  _ won’t  _ do anything,” Ben says, his eyes genuine on Emily’s. It doesn’t make Sammy feel any better. “I swear, Emily. I would never.”

“I believe you, Benny,” Emily says, her voice not without affection, and Sammy wonders where the hell the nickname came from. It makes Ben’s eyes light up though. 

Jack turns to Sammy with a good-natured smile that Sammy was sure that he would’ve trusted immediately a few years ago, but too much has happened since then. “I live like, two miles from here. But if you’re not comfortable -”

“Let’s just figure out what the hell this ghost thing is,” Sammy says, deciding to focus on that for right now and blocking out the rest. 

Emily gives him a hug before he goes - she’s been giving a lot of hugs recently, which Sammy does appreciate, even if it makes him feel more than a little uncomfortable. He’s never been a huggy guy, which had always been his excuse, but he’s somewhat aware that it’s more than that.

He heads down the stairs with Jack next to him, and they’re not really talking until Jack says “Do you wanna drive or should I? I drove Ben here but -”

“I’ll drive,” Sammy says, figuring that would make him more at ease, like he had some control here, and Jack nods without arguing. 

Jack plugs his phone into Sammy’s system for the GPS, and he hadn’t lied, his apartment was only a five minute drive. Sammy focuses on driving and not talking to Jack until they get out of Sammy’s car outside an apartment complex. 

“Nice bumper sticker,” Jack comments with a grin as they walk around the side of the car to get to the front door of the complex. It takes Sammy a second to remember that the sticker for 1390 is on his car. “Big fan?”

“Where I work,” Sammy corrects and Jack laughs.

“Dude, seriously?” He says as he pulls out his key and jostles it into the door. “Ben works in radio, too. And I used to.”

“What do you do now?” Sammy asks, a little curious, since obviously ghostbusting isn’t exactly lucrative enough to be full-time.

“When I’m not inviting strangers to my place to see if a glittery spirit is following them?” Jack jokes. At least he’s aware of how crazy his job is. “I’m doing post-grad stuff for broadcast journalism, and I work remotely for a company based in New York as an editor. I want to get back into radio when I finish my degree - or podcasting, which is super cool - my sister just started a podcast so I’d have access to some tricks of the trade. But I’m way too busy right now with school stuff.”

“Not gonna give up being Not Peter Venkman?” Sammy tries for a joke, but the list of things that Jack does kind of floors him a little. He wonders if those are the kinds of thing he’d be doing if he hadn’t stumbled into the worst relationship of his life and everything else got put on hold. 

“Ben would never forgive me,” Jack says solemnly, then cracks a grin. “Besides, it’s fun. Everything else I have to take too seriously. This is a passion project I get to work on with my best friend.”

“How long have you guys known each other?” Sammy asks as Jack gestures for them to turn a corner in the apartment.

“I was a senior in college, Ben was a freshman,” Jack explains. “I worked with him at the radio station. I thought - damn. That kid’s in college? He looks like he’s thirteen. But he had a ton of potential. When I graduated, we started hanging out and stuff and messing around and trying to do our own shows. It was fun, and we both love supernatural, paranormal type stuff. Ben was looking into how to get more involved - we always had a joke that we’d be Venkman and Spengler someday.”

“Which one are you?” Sammy asks, grinning a little.

“Not Peter Venkman, obviously,” Jack snorts, and gestures toward a door on their right, opening it with a turn of his key.

Jack’s apartment is bigger than Emily’s, but only by a bit, and looks a little less lived-in. Probably because Jack’s so busy. There are old movie posters on the walls, and some of them have signatures, and a bunch of equipment in the corner that Sammy can tell is for recording. There’s papers strewn out on the counter in between empty boxes of take out. 

Jack guiltily swipes the cartons into the garbage, turning on the living room lights as well as the kitchen ones. “Sorry for the mess. Obviously was not expecting company.”

“It’s fine,” Sammy says, awkwardly sitting in one of the barstools at the counter. Jack pulls one up to sit opposite.

“Want a beer?” Jack asks and Sammy nods. He pulls one from the fridge, and opens it before passing it to Sammy. “I’ll just have a coke or something. Don’t wanna drink on the job.”

It’s kind of funny how seriously Jack takes the ghostbusting, but also kind of sweet, Sammy thinks. Not that he believes in it at all or anything.

“Alright, so is there anything in particular that makes the apparition start doing its thing?” Jack asks, obviously a little more casual now that it’s just the two of them. “Anything that triggers it?”

“Um…” Sammy frowns. “I mean, it mainly starts when I’m alone, but -”

“I can leave if you want me to,” Jack says with a bit of a grin. “But maybe we’ll try something else first.”

“Alright, well, I’m usually on the couch,” Sammy says. “Whether I’m trying to sleep or sitting watching TV or whatever. Beatrice will usually notice it before I do because she gets scared.”

“Poor kitty,” Jack’s voice practically melts. It makes him even more handsome, but Sammy’s blocking that thought out for sure. “Is she yours or Emily’s?”

“Emily’s,” Sammy says. “I mean - I got Beatrice for her last year, she was a birthday gift.”

“That’s sweet,” Jack says. “I’m guessing you guys aren’t together, as you sleep on her couch, so how long have you been friends?”

“Ages,” Sammy says, fondness leaking into his voice. “We grew up together.” 

He stops there, thinking about maybe telling the story of how he took Emily to prom, but it’s a little too personal for a guy he met a few hours ago, even if he thinks Jack is a good guy. Sammy doesn’t really like sharing details about himself with people. 

“Did you just move into town or something? How’d you end up living with her?” Jack asks, and Sammy hates that question. It’s innocuous, it doesn’t mean anything, but he hates it. 

“No, just ...unexpectedly had to move out of where I was before,” Sammy says, hoping Jack doesn’t ask any other questions about this. “Not for ghostly reasons, though.”

“Was there any big change that prompted it?” Jack asks, light as can be, but Sammy feels smaller. “I can’t help but think there has to be some catalyst - if the apparition is really interested in you, that is. Though it could be that, if there isn’t any activity in either apartment tonight, that it’s somehow tied to both you  _ and  _ the apartment - it was always in the apartment, but you living there prompted it to become active. That’s one theory. But if there was some kind of change for you -”

Sammy shakes his head. It’s a lie, but he can’t get into that right now, with a fucking stranger of all people. “Not really. Certainly nothing have to do with death.”

“Alright,” Jack says, and Sammy hopes he’s convinced. “Well, I’d say let’s move to the couch, see if that helps our apparition show up. You wanna watch something? I’ve got Netflix and Hulu.”

“Whatever you want,” Sammy agrees easily. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Jack gestures down the hall as he goes to set up the TV. Sammy leaves his beer on the counter and heads down the hallway, not really thinking anything of anything.

But then he goes into the bathroom and the door slams behind him like a gust of wind knocked into it without Sammy even having to touch it. 

Sammy’s heart beat louder, and he starts to pull on the door handle but to no avail. It won’t open.

“Jack?” Sammy calls, and that’s when the lights begin to flicker. “Shit! Jack, I think it’s in here with me.”

He can hear Jack on the other side, the door handle shaking from his side now.

“I can’t get it open,” he can hear Jack through the door, and knowing he’s there helps Sammy from starting to have a panic attack even if he feels like he can’t breathe. “Is there something -”

The music starts playing in Sammy’s ear, the same music that had always accompanied the ghost at Emily’s place, but the pace is faster, the notes playing rampantly instead of slowly, crescendoing wildly until it blocks out all other noise. He hears Jack say something, but he has no idea what it is, the music is too loud.

“What do you want?” Sammy isn’t sure the words even come out of his mouth or if he’s just thinking them - he certainly can’t hear himself.

That’s when the lights entirely black out and Sammy’s left in the dark.

The door rattles, and Sammy reaches blindly for the handle. 

It finally opens, and Jack’s on the other side staring at him with wide eyes and his mouth open.

“Holy shit,” Jack says and Sammy wonders how crazed he looks right now. “That’s -”

“It’s never done that before,” Sammy says slowly, and steps out of the bathroom as fast as he can, feeling dizzy. 

“Are you alright?” Jack puts a hand on his arm, and it’s nice, it keeps him upright. “I couldn’t hear anything over - over that crazy music.”

“I don’t know,” Sammy says, feeling like he’s going to vomit, but the urge gets stronger at the thought of going back into the bathroom, so he can’t do that. “Let’s - can we get out of here?”

“I’ll text Ben,” Jack says immediately. “We can meet for a late night dinner a little earlier than expected. Make a game plan from here.”

His grip on Sammy’s arm gets a little firmer, and he’s looking in his eyes, a sympathetic look, but it’s easier to take from Jack than Emily. 

“I know this is kind of scary,” Jack says, and Sammy lets out a humorless laugh. “But hey - at least we know now what the apparition is interested in. We can figure this out, alright? Ben and I know what we’re doing - well, I do, at the very least.”

Sammy laughs for real at that, and sinks down against the wall. Jack sits next to him as he texts Ben, and they stay like that for a minute before heading down to Sammy’s car. 

“You ever seen anything like this before?” Sammy can’t help but ask Jack as they pull away from the apartment complex. 

Jack just grins at him. “You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen. Yours doesn’t crack the top five, alright?”

“I don’t believe that,” Sammy shakes his head and Jack laughs.

“Alright, top three,” Jack says. “I’ll rank this at number four on the crazy scale. So far. You have some room to go to number one, but hey, maybe you’ll break the record.”

“I really hope not,” Sammy sighs. 


	2. Beyond the Capacity for Rational Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, pretty good timing on this one even though I forwent literally all of my responsibilities to just write today. Which I can't do tomorrow. It's my goal to finish this tomorrow anyway, but we'll see how that goes. I'll definitely have the third part up by....Wednesday? We'll say Wednesday, but hopefully tomorrow.
> 
> No huge warnings yet, we're still mainly in foreshadow-land, but there'll be some warnings that apply to the last chapter that I'll tag/mention in the notes. Hope you enjoy!

Sammy’s blinking himself awake at work on Monday, the four cups of coffee he’d had that morning failing him as he goes through the show’s analytics for the past quarter. It’s always dull work, but it’s made duller by Sammy’s lack of sleep.

Ben and Jack had left instructions for suppressing some of the worst of the symptoms by way of burning herbs. It had certainly helped by way of no malevolent force locking him in a bathroom, but Sammy’s still sleepless and humming Scarborough Fair all night after hearing Ben’s long explanation of the healing powers of rosemary and thyme.

Theories are being worked on now, but Sammy doesn’t think the Ghostbusting knockoff duo will be back in Emily’s apartment until the coming weekend. They’re ordering some kind of special reader thing, it sounds like Jack’s out of town anyway, and honestly, Sammy doesn’t know how much they can help anyway.

It’s not even like he thinks this a ghost, not really. He’s willing to talk about it as if it is, and he doesn’t have a better explanation, but he doesn’t _really_ believe that he’s being haunted.

“Go get lunch.”

Sammy’s startled out of his reverie by Mary looking over at him with concern from her desk opposite his. Even though her expression is warm and affectionate, it still makes Sammy feel worse.

“Go to lunch, Stevens,” Mary repeats, a smile twitching on her lips. “You look like you need to get some food in you.”

“Sorry,” Sammy mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair to make himself feel more awake. “Long weekend.”

“We all have them,” Mary says, slowly, like she’s trying to drive a point home. “Go down to the cafeteria, get a sandwich or something - I promise the analytics will still be here when you get back. You awake enough to be on the air this afternoon?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sammy says automatically. The day he’s in too dire straits to go in the air is probably going to be what kills him. He can always get on the air, no matter what’s happened, what he’s done. It’s one of his only talents - that ability to pretend.

“Bring me back a Coke,” Mary says, turning back to her computer as Sammy heads through the office space and past the recording booth to head downstairs.

The radio station he works at is housed on the top floor of a spacious downtown building, and Sammy has to go down ten flights of stairs to get to the cafeteria on the main level. He could take the elevator, but he thinks maybe walking will clear him up a little more.

When Sammy’s in a good mental place, he’ll pack a healthy lunch for himself, but Sammy and good mental places haven’t gone together for a good long while, if they ever have. So today he’s standing in line at Chick-fil-A and resigning himself to going to Starbucks to get more coffee.

He’s debating the value of a latte over a black dark roast and doesn’t think he hears the first time someone says “Hey - Sammy?”

He becomes vaguely aware that’s someone’s saying his name, but he’s looking at the menu, extremely sleep deprived, and can only process one thing at a time right now.

And then someone hits his arm.

Sammy tries not to jump a foot in the air, but his panic calms when he sees Ben Arnold standing next to him, a bright grin on his face as Sammy finally takes notice.

“Hey, dude! What’s up?” Ben greets him, his smile never faltering. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here, what are you doing here?” Sammy asks him, though not meanly. He’s just surprised is all.

“No way, I work here, too - sixth floor, KQKS, I produce the morning report,” Ben says excitedly. “Jack mentioned you work in radio - does that mean you’re on the top floor? I think we’re the only two stations housed in this building.”

“Yeah, I do,” Sammy says, a little disconcerted but glad to see Ben nonetheless. “I guess you were right about recognizing me from somewhere.”

“Yeah, if we both get lunch here, I’m sure I’ve seen you a million times,” Ben says. “But I only just got the producing gig this year, so it’s not like I’ve been around for ages or anything, so I don’t feel too bad about not actually knowing you. How long have you worked for 1390?”

“Two and a half years? Something like that,” Sammy says, not liking thinking backwards. “I host Daily Access from one to four.”

“I’ve probably listened to your show before, honestly,” Ben says, shaking his head as if he’s kicking himself for not realizing. “Do you have to go right back upstairs or are you on break? I was just gonna catch up on a podcast for my lunch, but if you’re on break, let’s eat together.”

“I - okay,” Sammy finds himself agreeing. Ben’s kind of hard to say no to. But that’s alright, Sammy doesn’t mind it, Ben’s enthusiastic and kind, and just has a way about him that inserts himself into other people’s lives, but not in a threatening way. He’s sweet, like a kid brother or a newborn puppy is sweet.

Sammy orders his food, Ben ends up ordering at Chick-fil-A as well and Sammy forgoes Starbucks for following Ben to an empty table with Ben chattering a mile a minute.

“I was a communications major in college, and I knew I wanted to do something in journalism,” Ben’s explaining as they sit down. “But I _loved_ working at the college radio station, so I’ve been trying to get my foot in the door at a big name station since I graduated. I’m trying really hard not to fuck it up, but I feel like I’m good enough at scheduling that they’ll keep me around at least for that.”

He laughs, and Sammy laughs with him.

“I’m not sure why they keep me around,” Sammy says, trying for joking. “Apparently I’m entertaining, though I don’t know if I believe the critics.”

“If they’re saying good things, believe them,” Ben says through a mouthful of food. He swallows before he talks again. “How’s everything going at your place? Emily texted to say she thought there was less noise -”

Sammy makes a mental note of that to ask Emily about later.

“ - but you look like you haven’t slept at all,” Ben says, and there’s a concerned look on his face not unlike Mary’s look upstairs. “Did it get any better? Or worse?”

“It was ...I mean, nothing crazy happened like at Jack’s,” Sammy shifts in his seat. “I think maybe it was just the anticipation of the possibility of that happening again that was keeping me up.”

“Ooh yeah, the anxiety,” Ben makes a face. “Literal worst thing ever. But hey, I guess it’s an improvement? Even if it’s a small one. Seems like the apparition really didn’t like you leaving your place. Maybe as long as you’re there it’ll at least stay consistent.”

“Maybe,” Sammy shrugs. “You’re the expert here.”

“It’s a weird apparition,” Ben shakes his head. “But don’t worry, Jack and I will figure it out. He’s on a work trip to New York - fucking New York of all places - and he’s texting me theories every thirty seconds anyway. He’ll have worked something out by the time he gets back.”

“How long have you guys been...ghost hunting?” Sammy says, fishing for the right words and not finding any, and Ben jabs his plastic fork in Sammy’s direction lightheartedly.

“Not _hunting_ them,” Ben says. “We’re dispensing them. Back into the void, or the afterlife, or whatever comes next. Jack thinks it’s a void of nothingness, I think it’s an afterlife - I’m slowly winning Jack to my side, though.”

“You religious?” Sammy asks, genuinely curious. People into paranormal stuff to the level Ben is usually wouldn’t be, so it’s a bit incongruous to how Sammy had been thinking about him.

“God no,” Ben says, wrinkling up his nose. “I just think there’s something out there. After. Not with the strictness of say, heaven and hell and purgatory, but something waiting for us after we go. The thing with apparitions is - when they’re tied to this plane of existence, it’s usually because they’re not at peace. And when they can make peace is when they leave. So when they can finally find the good in the world, they leave it. Makes me think there’s something good waiting for them wherever they head to next.”

"That's ...not a bad way to look at things,” Sammy says, wishing that he had the confidence in anything that Ben spoke with about something as huge and unknowable as life after death. “I guess I don’t know enough about gh - apparitions to say if I agree. Though I think whatever’s in Emily’s apartment certainly isn’t at peace.”

He says it like a joke, but Ben doesn’t laugh, only cocks his head. “Why do you call it Emily’s apartment and not your apartment?”

Sammy shrugs. “Because it is. I’m just semi-permanently crashing on her couch.”

“Hmm,” Ben takes a bite of his sandwich, and Sammy isn’t a big fan of the look on his face. “So it’s not _home_ , for you. Interesting - I’m gonna make a note of that, it might be important. After work, I’m gonna list all of the things we know about the apparition for certain, and then cross-reference that with my notes from our previous cases to see where the similarities are.”

“Do we know _anything_ for certain, though?” Sammy asks, thinking that Ben takes this job way more seriously than he would’ve thought possible before meeting him.

Ben starts ticking things off on his fingers. “It only comes out during the night. It only manifests physically, not vocally, except in the case of the music. It’s both present in air and electricity. It reacted badly when you left Emily’s apartment. That one’s especially important, I think, and might have something to do with why it only started presenting itself now. It could’ve been attached to you before, but wherever you were living before was preventing it from manifesting.”

Sammy sets down his sandwich, a sudden wave of nausea coming over him. That would be fucking ironic, wouldn’t it, the worst place he ever lived protecting him from a ghostly spirit. Fucking ironic, fucking fantastic, Sammy wants to throw up.

“Anyway,” Ben says, voice not changing, obviously not noticing what’s going on in Sammy’s head. “I’ll start on a super comprehensive list  of that kind of stuff when I get home tonight.”

“Sounds productive,” Sammy says, forcing a laugh. “When I get home tonight, I’ll go sit on the couch and wait for the apparition to show up. Maybe I’ll try and ask a few questions so you can add the info to your list.”

Ben frowns. “You should try to get out of the apartment for awhile. Like, I’m saying this as your hired expert, but also as someone who can see that it’s obviously taking a toll on you. And why wouldn’t it? It’s kind of terrifying, honestly. You’re handling it really well - but you should try to get out of that space, go do something fun.”

“On a Monday night?” Sammy snorts, trying not to show that it’s been a couple years since he’s ever really done anything he considers _fun._

“Go to a movie or something,” Ben says casually, but then his eyes light up. “Idea - you can say no - but I’ve been dying to see the new Jurassic World movie. And Jack won’t go with me because he saw the original when he was like, way too young and it scared him shitless and he’s holding a grudge against the franchise. But I’d totally go with you - and Emily too if she wants to come!”

Sammy kind of stares, not knowing how to react for half a second. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to go to the movies with Ben, it’s just - he can’t remember the last time someone was nice to him for no reason, when someone wanted to hang out with him just because.

“Sorry, “Ben’s smile goes a little apologetic, though no less enthusiastic. “I’m doing that thing again. Jack calls it the golden retriever thing. Or the octopus thing. Or the baby chipmunk thing. Jack compares me to way too many animals. But I know, I’m enthusiastic and chipper and don’t really know when to stop. But like - I wanna hang out with you, man! You’re really cool. You and Emily both.”

“Ben, it’s fine,” Sammy reassures him, smiling, Ben’s excitement kind of rubbing off. “Let’s do it, yeah? I’ll text Emily and see if she wants to go, too.”

Ben’s face gets impossibly brighter.

* * *

 

_Hey. You wanna go to a movie with Ben tonight? Jurassic World, 7:30, Century Theater._

_…..i’m assuming you mean you AND ben??_

_Yeah_

_How’d that happen?_

_Apparently we work in the same building - he invited us_

_No jack??_

_Jack’s out of town. And doesn’t like dinos apparently_

_Okay. tell him that sounds really fun! I’ll be there! Do you want to meet there or are you coming home first?_

* * *

_Hey em’s coming tonight - we’ll meet you there at 7:30_

_Coolcoolcoolcoolcool can’t wait!!!!!!!!!!_

* * *

“God, I love the Jurassic Park franchise. And not just to piss Jack off like he accuses me of. But I really do love it. I love the dinos. The jumpscares. The Chris Pratt! It’s all so good.”

Ben’s chattering on their way out of the theatre and Sammy can’t help but laugh at him. Emily’s giggling too, more carefree than Sammy’s seen her recently.

“There’s just not enough Jeff Goldblum in the new ones,” Emily points out and Ben points at her emphatically with the hand that’s not carrying his gigantic popcorn bucket.

“That’s so true,” Ben says. “I loved him in the Grand Budapest Hotel. Though Jurassic Park is for sure his best role, there’s no doubt.”

“But Laura Dern is the best part of the original,” Sammy feels the need to remind them and thankfully they both nod in agreement, Ben going on a long rant about the endless love he has for everything Laura Dern’s ever done.

“Did you have fun?” Ben asks when they get out the door and into the warm summer night. “Did I make things horrendously awkward and drag you out of your lives to spend an evening with a way too enthusiastic stranger?”

“You’re not a stranger anymore,” Emily tells him brightly. “And no, of course not, this was so much fun. We should definitely do it again. And with Jack next time, when he’s back in town.”

“I’ll make him pencil us in,” Ben says with a big grin, but he turns to Sammy hopefully as if to say it’s okay if he didn’t have a good time, but Ben really did want him to have had fun.

“It’s not the best installment of the franchise,” Sammy tells him, needing to divert slightly. “But you were right - it was good to hang out.”

Ben’s clearly pleased with that answer. “Alright - well - text me tomorrow if you wanna get lunch, alright? And Emily, I’ll text you about setting up a time to stop by this weekend once Jack’s back in town and we have the right equipment ready.”

“You can text before then too,” Emily says, affectionate. “But I’ll plan on that. Night, Benny!”

They part ways heading into the parking lot, and Emily’s still smiling when they get back to Sammy’s car.

“He likes you,” Sammy tells her when they get inside and Emily gives him a look like he’s unbelievable.

“What?” Emily laughs. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He for sure does,” Sammy says. “He laughed at everything you said.”

“Maybe I’m a funny person,” Emily pouts in his direction and Sammy rolls his eyes as he pulls the car out of the lot. “Besides, I think he likes _you_.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sammy snorts. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just ...you know...”

He makes a vague hand gesture he’s not sure the symbolic nature of.

“Like a little puppy,” Emily says instead, sighing happily. “He’s the sweetest guy.”

“Do you like _him_ ?” Sammy shoots his eyebrows up as he half-turns to her. “I mean ...you called him _Benny_.”

“Do _you_ like him?” Emily shoots back. “You left the house!”

Sammy has a retort ready, but then thinks about it for half a second and realizes that he can’t say it out loud, because the first thing that occurred to him to say was that if he was going to have a crush on one of the guys he met three days ago, it wouldn’t be Ben.

But he for sure can’t say that, so he lets Emily be smug and make fun of him awhile longer.

* * *

 

Ben is very good at making himself at home in Sammy’s life. Over the next week, Sammy gets lunch with Ben every single day. And not because he feels like it’s an obligation, but because he looks forward to it. Because it’s the best part of his day. It gets him through the morning slog of paperwork, thinking about how at least he’ll get to hang out with Ben after this.

Ghostly shenanigans don’t end up happening that weekend - Jack’s trip was elongated, apparently he’s super annoyed by it according to Ben, and doesn’t much like his job anyway. But Ben stops by the apartment to bring by more rosemary and thyme and to talk through a couple theories he has, and ends up staying for dinner, still laughing at everything Emily says.

Sammy can see what’s happening even if Emily can’t, and he brings it up to Ben during one of their lunch breaks the next week.

“Hey, so you seem to like Emily,” Sammy says when there’s a lull in the conversation and Ben stops shoveling salad into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten anything in weeks.

“Yeah?” Ben says through a mouthful of lettuce. “Emily’s awesome.”

“No, but you seem to... _really_ like her,” Sammy says, not wanting to push the point. “Which is fine. Emily’s a very likable person. But be careful, alright? I think you’re a good guy, Ben - and that recommendation from me doesn’t come too easily. But Emily’s had a rough time of things, relationship-wise, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Ben looks at him a little curiously, which wasn’t what Sammy was expecting. “Hey. I’d never, ever hurt Emily. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. But like - I’m not super _interested_ in her. Where are you getting that from?”

“From...everything you do and say around her,” Sammy says blanky. “I mean - how - is that how you just _are_ around girls?”

“Dude, this is how I am around _people_ ,” Ben says self-deprecatingly with a roll of his eyes. “And don’t get me wrong, like - Emily’s gorgeous. And really fun. And amazing.  If she asked me out, I’d probably say yes. But like - only if she was into it, you know? And we just started becoming friends, and at least for now, she’s my client. I may be as unprofessional as they come in a lot of ways, but not that one. Maybe when all this apparition stuff at your place has been figured out and we’re all just friends, I might ask her on a date. But only if I knew she wanted me to. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sammy says slowly, wanting to trust Ben, but it’s not in his nature. Greg had seemed harmless at first too - not that anyone in history had ever been a worse person than Greg fucking Frickard. Hitler and Stalin had a run for their money, as far as Sammy was concerned. “If you’re sure.”

“It’s funny,” Ben says, his smile softer around the edges now. “I think Emily was trying to tell me the same thing about you. She was talking about how you’d gone through a lot recently, and I shouldn’t push you into anything you weren’t comfortable with - I thought she was just talking about the apparition, but…”

Sammy sighs through his nose. He’s sure Emily had the best intentions, but it still makes his stomach crawl to think about his issues being even obliquely known to someone who isn’t her. “I’m sure she meant the former. Or maybe both, I don’t know.”

“I just wanna be friends, guys!” Ben laughs, reaching over the table to shove at Sammy’s shoulder. “It’s my golden retriever thing coming back to haunt me again, I know it. I’m too nice! Just think of my niceness as having no sexuality to it. None at all. Has nothing to do with it. Very sexless. Alright?”

“Alright,” Sammy shakes his head, ignoring any feelings of affection for Ben. “I believe you. You’re just that nice, Ben Arnold.”

“I’ll ask you both out six months from now and see who says yes,” Ben says, obviously joking, his grin barely containable.

“Won’t be me,” Sammy snorts and Ben laughs.

“Well, probably a good thing, as I don’t know what dating a guy is like,” Ben says. “I’d totally try it, though! I’m probably straight, but I’m open to whatever! Though I think if I was legit into guys, I probably would’ve jumped Jack’s bones by now.”

He startles a laugh out of Sammy with how matter-of-fact his tone is.

“He’s the handsomest man alive,” Ben defends. “I’m totally valid in thinking that.”

“Alright,” Sammy says, not used to such frank discussion like this, especially from self-professed straight guys. It’s kind of refreshing, but also kind of terrifying.

He gets out of the conversation before Ben can ask him any questions about his sexual preferences. Enough was already implied for Sammy to sleep well tonight, even if the apparition was continuing to play its weird little tunes, and the thumping was getting louder by the night.

* * *

 

Three days later, Sammy gets a call from Jack when he’s driving home from work. He turns off his radio and scrambles to get to the phone when he sees the caller ID, which is something he’s not analyzing at all.

“Hello?” Sammy shifts the phone under his ear, putting on his turn signal in preparation for turning onto Emily’s street.

“Hey, Sammy,” he hears Jack’s voice crackle through the line. “This is Jack Wright -”

“Oh, hey,” Sammy says as if he didn’t already know. “How’s it going? You back in town?”

“Yeah, finally,” Jack says, and Sammy can sense the frustration through the phone. “I’m really sorry about leaving you hanging like that, I’m sure the last couple weeks haven’t been great for you, and we haven’t been able to help a lot yet. Ben said that he’s been dropping off the herbs continually, and that they’re kind of working?”

“Kind of,” Sammy affirms. “It seems like there are fewer symptoms most nights, and a lot of the time it’s just thumping. Or lights flickering.”

Jack makes an interested noise. “Concurrently, or are the symptoms isolated? Like, only one happens on one night?”

“Um,” Sammy thinks back. “Not in complete isolation from night to night. But usually only one at a time, and then varying throughout the night.”

“Huh,” Jack says slowly, then his tone quickly changes to a brisker one. “Well, we can talk more about that soon. I wanted to schedule an interview with you - it can be as formal as the two of us renting out an office space to do it, or as informal as you coming over for dinner or something, whatever you’re most comfortable with. But a scheduled time where we can comb over the details of how this apparition is related to you.”

“Oh, um, alright,” Sammy tries to sound upbeat and not anxious, pulling into Emily’s apartment complex’s parking lot and heading to his spot. He turns off the car, but stays seated, figuring he’ll go inside when he’s done talking to Jack. “Em wants to have you and Ben over for dinner anyway, how about I check with her and we can do it then?”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds good,” Jack says, though a little awkwardly. “Look, I know Ben’s been spending quite a lot of time with you guys, and not in the most professional sense. I just wanted to say - I’m really sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, or if he’s pushing boundaries. I love Ben, but he’s a lot to get used to, and if he’s -”

“Hey, Ben’s great,” Sammy tells Jack sincerely. “If I wanted Ben to fuck off, I would’ve told him so, believe me.”

“Alright, I do,” Jack laughs. “He’s a handful. He said right after that first night that he thought you guys were so cool, and I told him to wait it out and glom on and never let go _after_ we take care of your apparition problem. As you can see, he never listens to me.”

“So should I tell Em you guys are coming over for dinner this weekend?” Sammy says. “I think she was talking about Saturday night.”

“Sounds great,” Jack says, and sounds like he means it.

It pleases Sammy enough that he momentarily forgets that he’s going to have to talk about himself for an extended period of time.

His nightmare, honestly.

* * *

 

“Okay, something easy right off the bat - exposure to death,” Ben says over a pile of note cards that apparently have questions on them. And he’s going to be recording Sammy’s answers. His pen is ready to go.

Sammy hates this. Emily knows he hates this, too, and he can tell she’s looking at him with pity. Which he also hates, but he knows at least that Emily will put a stop to this for him if things started digging deep enough to bleed.

“Who have you known in your life who’s died?”

Sammy shakes his head. “I mean - not many people? My grandmother, when I was twelve. Somehow I don’t think her spirit’s been following me around for the past fifteen years.”

Both Ben and Jack look at him over the counter like _that can’t possibly be the only thing._

Emily’s hand is soft on Sammy’s shoulder from next to him, and he takes a deep breath and keeps talking.

“My great-uncle, who I didn’t know very well - I was...fifteen?” Sammy says, trying to remember even a single time he’d been in the same room as that uncle. “One of my high school classmates died in a car crash, but we weren’t friends or anything. Um, I think one of my college roommates overdosed, but that was after we fell out of touch.”

“That sounds like it could be something,” Ben writes that one down and underlines it, Sammy can tell. He hopes they get done with this interview shit soon so Emily can get the lasagna out of the oven and they can just hang out. This is too much pressure. “Anything more recent?”

Sammy shakes his head. “I mean - family members might’ve died that I don’t know about. I don’t really keep in contact with my family much.”

“Why not?” Ben asks and Jack immediately shushes him.

“It might be important to know,” Jack shoots Sammy a somewhat guilty look. “But you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. I don’t talk to my parents either and I wouldn’t want to get into why.”

“Thanks,” Sammy says, flushing slightly. “I - I’d rather not get into it. They’re just not very supportive of ...anything I’ve ever done. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“We’ll come back to that if we think it’s the culprit, but it’s not likely,” Jack says reassuringly. “Alright, so that’s death. Not very many strong contenders, but what was your roommate’s name? If we end up thinking it’s them, we have some tests we can run with the name.”

“Uh, Marshall Swanson,” Sammy says, somehow doubting it’s his dickish homophobic freshman year roommate but letting Ben and Jack write the name down anyway.

“And what about the places you’ve lived? I’m mainly asking more recently, but we can go back to childhood if you’re comfortable,” Jack says and Sammy bites his lip. God, he doesn’t want to get into this, but maybe he can divert enough attention away from what he doesn’t want to talk about.

“I’ve been in town since college,” Sammy answers carefully. “First in a dorm, then ...two apartments, both of them near campus. Then in a house out in the suburbs. And then….here.”

“The house in the suburbs,” Ben says, frowning, and Sammy’s heart sinks. “How long were you there?”

“A year,” Sammy says thickly, feeling like there’s blood rushing to his head. He can feel Emily take a hold of his wrist. It sounds so conspicuous like that.

“We’ve brought this up before but - what prompted the move?” Jack asks, and his voice is far too careful and soft for Sammy to take. “What kind of change accompanied that?”

Sammy tries to open his mouth, but nothing comes out. Everything tastes like lead.

“Do you want me to tell them?” Emily interrupts, her voice quiet and gentle. There’s an appeal to it, to having people know without Sammy having to say anything but - he doesn’t want Ben and Jack to think worse of him.

“I don’t see how it matters,” Sammy finds his voice to say. “Unless the apparition is some manifestation of my depression, then there’s really nothing to go on.”

He hates the twin looks of pity on Ben and Jack’s faces, but there’s something in Jack’s especially that feels understanding.

Ben turns to Jack with an apologetic look thrown Sammy’s direction. “.....Could depression manifest as an apparition?”

“We can look into that,” Jack says quietly. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore until something leads that way. But - I will say - the fact that you don’t want to talk about it means that it’s probably more than likely that it has _something_ to do with this situation.”

Fuck, Sammy knew he was gonna say something like that.

He looks at Emily instead of Jack when he talks, and her eyes are encouraging. It’s good that one person here already knows just how badly he’s fucked up in his life.

“I had ...a very messy break-up,” Sammy says and Emily nods at him to keep going. He thinks this is the first time he’s mentioned Ryan, even obliquely, to someone who wasn’t Emily since it’s been over. “That kind of thing happens to all kinds of people all the time and doesn’t result in being haunted.”

“But it could be connected,” Ben says quietly from across the table, and Sammy can’t look at him. All he can do is laugh bitterly.

“Look, a few emotional bruises aren’t going to - I mean - can’t we just -”

Sammy’s going to start panicking at any second, but time seems to slow to a stop when Jack’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth parts just slightly.

“Sammy,” Jack says, and God, his voice is too gentle. “How do you feel? When the apparition is here, when you can hear the thumping, slamming, music, all the typical symptoms. Do you feel safe? Confused? At peace? Annoyed? Threatened?”

“Confused, mainly,” Sammy says, not sure why the topic has changed so suddenly, other than that Jack’s probably taking pity on him. “I sure as hell don’t feel _safe._ It feels like - I don’t know, like when you feel like someone’s following you, but they’re a long way off and you don’t know for sure. Like it could be threatening if you let it get to that point. But the only time it felt like it could hurt me was at Jack’s, but that was only the once.”

Ben and Jack exchange a sharp look, Ben writing something on his notepad and showing it to Jack. Jack nods and Ben curses under his breath.

“What?” Sammy asks, alarmed. “What is it?”

“Shit,” Jack shakes his head. “I thought of this on my flight back - I was really hoping this wasn’t it - but the pattern fits.”

“What?” Sammy repeats, his heart rate increasing exponentially.

“Well,” Ben sighs, running a hand through his hair, suddenly looking much more tired. “It’s not an apparition.”

“So I’m not being haunted?” Sammy asks blankly. Not that he ever really believed in ghosts in the first place, but it was still a bit of a shock to hear. “I mean, the fucking Ghostbusters are telling me this isn’t a haunting?”

“Oh, it’s a haunting for sure,” Ben says, wincing. “This. Well. It’s a poltergeist."

“You’ve got to be fucking _kidding_.”

* * *

 

Sammy meets Jack at the coffee shop on Monday after work. He’s been mostly dreading it, ever since Jack and Ben had said that they needed to confirm this before they did anything, which just seemed like a way to get Sammy’s blood pressure rising over the weekend as he overanalyzed everything he said and how it could lead them to this conclusion.

But Jack had texted saying they should meet, and Sammy finds himself going into the Pure Bean three blocks from where he works to find Jack already sitting at one of the tables, waving him over with a look on his face that Sammy can’t read but knows he doesn’t like.

“Hey,” Jack grins when Sammy sits across from him. “How’s it going? Can I get you a drink or anything?”

“You can tell me what’s going on,” Sammy says, not meanly, just prodding enough to get Jack to grimace, though his eyes are soft and sympathetic.

“Yeah,” Jack says, sighing as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. Sammy stares, waiting.

“Sorry,” Jack shakes his head. “God, I’m so fucking sorry, Sammy. Ben and I were talking about how we should do this - I said it just had to be one of us, so it wouldn’t feel like an ambush, and he said it needed to be me - and I get that, I do, but I think Ben’s a lot easier to talk to than I am just in general.”

“Jack, what the hell’s going on?” Sammy asks, his paranoia over what this could possibly be ramping up.

“Look,” Jack lets out a humorless little laugh. “I just want you to know before I say anything - that of Not Venkman’s Ghostly Dispensation, I am the resident gay guy with a mile-long list of shitty exes. So I….I understand, okay? I understand.”

“I - what?” Sammy says weakly, ironically not quite understanding what Jack’s saying, what the implications are, how all of this possibly has anything to do with a poltergeist of all things. “You - what?”

“There’s an occult business in Denver,” Jack says slowly, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s in pain, “and one of the services they offer is that for a fee, they will set a malevolent spirit after another person. A poltergeist, who will essentially fuck with their victim for as long as someone’s paying the witch who sets it a fee.”

“Witch?” Sammy repeats, all of this suddenly going far too out of control. He’d felt like he was holding on for awhile there, but now he’s off in outer space somewhere and doesn’t even know where the steering wheel is, let alone how to drive.

“The poltergeist is set on you, obviously,” Jack says quietly. “It will respond to you in different ways depending on how the buyer has ordered the witch to set it. When you were at my apartment - I think the buyer somehow knew, and set the poltergeist to respond in more violent ways when you were somewhere else.”

“There’s a ...buyer," Sammy says slowly, still not entirely getting it. “You’re saying that someone bought a poltergeist from a witch. And sent it after me.”

“That’s my theory,” Jack says quietly. “We _know_ it’s a poltergeist now. Ben ran the right tests, got the exact same readings we had the one other time we’ve had to deal with a poltergeist. So we’re not experts here by any means, but the buyer for that poltergeist also went through the occult business to do it. Apparently there are other ways to get a poltergeist after you, but this is the most likely, especially since...”

“Since what?” Sammy somehow already knows what the answer’s going to be.

Jack looks like he’s torn between things to see, the look in his eye so sympathetic that Sammy can’t stand it, and then Jack takes a hold of his hand and squeezes, just for a second, and then lets go.

“Would your ex-boyfriend do something like that?” Jack asks quietly. “Set this spirit after you?”

Sammy can’t breathe. “I - God - I - I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jack says, a little alarmed, and he’s reaching across the table to take a hold of Sammy’s shoulder, gentle and tight all at once. “It’s alright, breathe.”

“How’d you know?” Sammy finally whispers, voice scratching. “How’d you know - know that it was a _boy_ friend?”

Jack kind of smiles at him, and not in a way that Sammy feels threatened by, or like Jack’s making fun of him. “I guess I didn’t know for sure, but. The way you talked about it. The way you _avoided_ talking about it. I just...you know. I knew.”

Sammy can read between the lines, he knows Jack’s saying _I’ve been there_ and on one level it’s reassuring, but on another level, it really, really isn’t, because Sammy feels like no one’s ever been quite as stupid as him when it comes to all this shit.

“He’d do it,” Sammy says, and he’s surprised by how fast and sure his voice sounds. How _harsh_ his voice sounds. “I don’t know how he’d know about this occult place, but. He was ... _so_ angry when I left. He would do it.”

Jack nods as if it’s the answer he expected, but not the one he wanted to hear.

“Can you tell me his name?” Jack says, and his voice drops down to a whisper as Sammy’s stomach coils. “I can drive down to Denver right from here, go to Gwendolyn’s, and be back by tomorrow. I can confirm that he hired her - and then I can make sure that she calls the poltergeist off.”

Sammy stares at his hands. He can’t - God, can he even fucking same his name out loud without - and to let Jack - but - he can’t fucking breathe with the pressure of all of this, he thought this was over and done everywhere but in his own head, but it turns out that Ryan just won’t fucking let him go, and why Sammy is still surprised is a fucking mystery.

“You said you’d leave from here?” Sammy asks, the words coming out before he’s even decided that this is the course he wants to take.

Jack nods at him, slow and steady.

“Alright,” Sammy says, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”


	3. He Happened to Get in the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I did it! Literally did not write either of my essays that are due this week, lmao, but they're both shorter and I don't have class Monday mornings. I'm gonna go lay down and watch the X Files now. 
> 
> Warnings on this one for former emotionally abusive relationships, gaslighting, the works. Frickard shows up, so anything Frickard would do. Also Gwendolyn, and there's a bit of antisemitism on her end, unsurprisingly, because she sucks. Hope you guys like the last chapter and that it plays well! I might do an epilogue or something, we'll see.

_ Gwendolyn’s Magical Menagerie  _ is a technicolored storefront on an otherwise drab street block well off the beaten path. The businesses on either side of her are slightly dilapidated, sketchy looking buildings with letters peeling off the signs, but Gwendolyn is apparently doing well for herself, if the brightness of her storefront is anything to go by.

Jack parks his car about a block down, and Sammy moves to unbuckle his seatbelt, but Jack puts a hand on his wrist.

“You’re not stopping me,” Sammy starts to tell him, but Jack just shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t ever try to,” Jack says genuinely, and Sammy believes him. “I just want to warn you. Gwendolyn - well - she’s not how she appears. She may  _ look _ sweet and innocent, but she’s dangerous and doesn’t even kind of mean well. Don’t trust her, don’t give her your name or any information about yourself unless you have to.”

“Okay,” Sammy says slowly. “Have you had to deal with her a lot? For other people with...the same problem?”

Jack shakes his head. “Just the once. But once is enough.”

Sammy follows Jack down the street. Jack steels himself, rolling his shoulders and letting out a long sigh before he opens the door and the two of them head inside.

The inside is as colorful as the outside, and though Sammy sees some vials, jewels, and books with eyebrow-raising titles on the walls, it looks more like a candy store than a hang-out for the occult. 

There’s no customers there, the only person is a woman behind the front desk who looks to be in her late thirties, very pale with long, blonde hair falling loosely in ringlets from her ponytail. She has soft features, and when she looks up, it’s with a dimpled smile.

“Jack Wright!” The woman raises to her feet with what seems like genuine enthusiasm. Her voice is high-pitched and smooth, but there’s something to it that sets Sammy on edge. “What a surprise to see  _ you  _ here again.”

Sammy looks over to see Jack’s shoulders tensing up as he smiles at the woman, very tight and uncomfortable. “Gwendolyn. How’s business been?”

Gwendolyn laughs, a titter that sends chills up Sammy’s spine. “Oh, you know me, Jack, I always stay busy. How about you? I see Benny’s not along on this little trip. Oh, I did like him, what a sweetheart. Though it looks like your new partner is adult-sized.”

She smiles as she extends a hand elegantly in Sammy’s direction. Sammy trades a look with Jack, who nods, though he still looks as if he’s ready to bolt any second. 

Sammy takes her hand and shakes it, and she smiles at him. On the surface, it seems ordinary, but there is a predatory vibe from her that Sammy can’t ignore. 

“Gwendolyn,” she introduces herself with a mini-curtsy as she lets go of Sammy’s hand. “I own this little shop here. And who might you be? Spengler?”

She laughs at her own joke, and Jack shakes his head when Sammy looks back at him.

“Just a friend of Jack’s,” Sammy says instead of coming up with a fake name. He gets the feeling Gwendolyn might see right through him if he tries that. “Nice to meet you, Gwendolyn.”

“Mysterious,” Gwendolyn tells him, eyes twinkling, but she turns away from him nonetheless, and Sammy can feel himself relax just slightly. “So what can I do for you, Jack? I have potions, spells, curses…”

“Your client list,” Jack says without beating around the bush. 

“Now, Jack, you know I can’t do that,” Gwendolyn says as she goes to sit behind her desk again, fluid and not missing a beat. “My clients wouldn’t like a know-it-all do-gooder having their names and you know it.”

“Well, I really just need to know who’s been spending their money on your poltergeists lately,” Jack says. “And then we can be on our way.”

“Another poltergeist problem?” Gwendolyn tuts at Jack. “I thought you and Benny would’ve worked out how to flush them out on your own by now.”

“Why would we do that when I could just double whatever your client’s paying you?” Jack says, his voice growing harder by the second. “I thought we told you no more poltergeists in our neck of the woods. We had a deal.”

“Well, sorry dear, sometimes the right client walks in the door….” Gwendolyn shrugs elegantly, her smile patronizing. 

“And which  _ right client  _ would that be?” Sammy interrupts this uncomfortable cat and mouse game as he glares over at Gwendolyn. 

The chills race down his spine again as Gwendolyn cocks her head, regarding him closely. A slow, understanding smile begins to form.

“Oh, I know  _ you _ ,” Gwendolyn says. “ _ You’re  _ Sammy Stevens. I thought I recognized that look on your face - my little poltergeist has been keeping you up all night, hasn’t he? He’s a good boy, very good at his job.”

“How do you know my name?” Sammy asks, trying to keep his voice measured and not panicked, but Jack interrupts Gwendolyn before she can answer.

“Maybe because she’s psychic,” Jack says, shooting Gwendolyn a venomous look. “But maybe because she knows  _ exactly  _ what client we’re talking about.”

“Maybe I do,” Gwendolyn turns back to Jack, her smile sickly sweet. “How high are you willing to go to find out?”

“Name your price,” Jack says without blinking, and Sammy wonders what that could possibly mean. Money is obvious, but Sammy doesn’t know the going rate of poltergeists these days, so he has no frame of reference for what the price actually could be.

“I think a lock of your hair will do nicely,” Gwendolyn says, leaving Sammy still just as confused, as he has no idea what kind of sacrifice that is to a witch.

He turns to Jack, not sure if this is too steep or too much to ask of him, but Jack doesn’t even look at Sammy. He heads straight to Gwendolyn’s desk, grabs a pair of scissors from her drawer, and snips off a decent chunk from the back of his head without even looking.

“Have a field day,” Jack says flatly as he slams the hair down on Gwendolyn’s desk. Gwendolyn’s smile just gets wider.

“Ooh, you’re  _ angry _ ,” Gwendolyn leans over to look at Sammy a little conspiratorially as if they’re on the same side here. “Wonder what’s made him such a party-pooper?”

“Poltergeists aren’t a party,” Jack says, and Sammy realizes that Gwendolyn  _ is  _ right - it really does seem like Jack’s absolutely furious with her. “I paid your price, Gwendolyn. Details first - and then you call off the fucking game.”

“Temper, temper,” Gwendolyn clucks her tongue before turning to Sammy and not Jack. “Around two months ago, Ryan Turner stops by my humble little abode seeking revenge. Seemed like he’d been done wrong.”

“I’m sorry -  _ done wrong _ ?” Sammy asks, a numbness settling over him as he hears Ryan’s name spoken out loud for the first time since - since. He can feel Jack looking at him, but can’t look back. “All I did was leave. I didn’t even smash his television like I threatened to.”

“Well, you know how it is when it comes to passion and revenge,” Gwendolyn giggles. “So he gives me your name, some personal info, everything I need to cast my little poltergeist out after you. Pays me handsomely, too.”

“Of course he did,” Sammy laughs but there’s no humor there. “How long is the poltergeist supposed to…”

“He paid for six months up front,” Gwendolyn says. “He said he’d be back to cover the next six months soon. I can’t say for certain, but I have more than one indefinite haunting on my ledger. He could’ve kept it for as long as he liked - presuming a lack of interference from Not Venkman and his little friend.”

“Alright,” Jack says sharply, and Sammy finally looks at him again. He’s tense as hell and glaring at Gwendolyn, but when he notices Sammy looking at him, he turns back for half a second with wide, apologetic eyes. “Gwendolyn, you’ve got my payment - so call the poltergeist off. I want to see you do it.”

“Hmm,” Gwendolyn cocks her head, playing with the mess of Jack’s hair that’s still splayed out on her desk, twisting it between her fingers. Sammy feels sick to his stomach at the idea of Jack giving that to her for his sake without even a second thought.

Not that he believes she can  _ do  _ anything with it. But - she and Jack both obviously believe she can.

“I don’t know if it’s enough,” Gwendolyn declares. “I got the feeling Mr. Turner would be a lifelong client - if I’m going to lose a lifer, I’m going to need a little more. If I could have a lock of Sammy’s hair as well ...I think that’d settle the score.”

Sammy shifts uneasily, reaching up to his hair. He doesn’t like this, but he’s definitely willing to do it. Before he can move, though, Jack speaks up.

“Absolutely not,” Jack says, giving Sammy a look like  _ please don’t _ .  “If you want hair, you can either have more of mine, or you can invoice Not Venkman’s Ghostly Dispensation for a lock of Ben’s. I’m sure we can mail that to you in the next three to five business weeks.”

Gwendolyn laughs, a twinkling sound that’s so incongruous with the awfulness that she clearly possesses. “Well, Jewish hair is a step down, but I suppose if Benny stops by in person, I’ll let it slide.”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck did you just say about Ben?” Sammy interrupts, and numbness quickly gives way to anger and protectiveness surging up.

“She does that,” Jack says blankly, his lips forming into more of a snarl than a smile as he glares at Gwendolyn. “She’s got a fun little nickname - Gwendolyn the Racist Witch.”

“I prefer Gwendolyn the Hateful and you know it,” Gwendolyn pouts at Jack, then sighs, rolling her shoulders back. “Fine. I’ll call back your little poltergeist. Just remember that you owe me.”

She starts speaking in rhymes, and Sammy tries to follow, but it soon descends out of English and into what sounds like a medieval chant in Latin or something equally complicated, and when Gwendolyn raises her arms and crashes them back to her side, Sammy can hear a crack of thunder in the distance even though there had been no clouds in the sky on their drive here.

He also feels a strange whooshing sensation, as if something had been keeping pressure on his chest and has finally been lifted up and he can breathe deeply for the first time in weeks. 

“See?” Gwendolyn says, shaking her hair out as she looks at Jack. “All better now, dear.”

“If there continue to be problems, you know I’ll be back,” Jack says, the threat implicit. “I’ll have Ben stop by later this week.”

“Be sure that you do,” Gwendolyn says before turning from Jack to Sammy. “If you’re interested, Sammy...if you can spare a lock of hair, I do have an artifact that will lead you straight to Ryan Turner, glowing the closer you get to him. If you’d like to take some revenge of your own.”

“I don’t. And even if I did,  I already know where he lives, thanks,” Sammy says tightly, just wanting all of this to be over and not to think about it ever again. But there was still something that was bothering him, an explanation that he needed to ask for. “Just one more question - how the hell did he know how to come to  _ you _ ? He’s not involved in the occult or - or believes in any of this stuff. How’d he find you?”

Gwendolyn just smiles. “Oh, I think his associate that came in the shop with him was his recommendation. Mr. Turner was a little reticent to believe at first, but Mr. Frickard sold him on the idea in the end.”

Sammy can feel the blood drain from his face as his heart lurches. Everything suddenly feels so much colder.

Jack’s look at him is one of alarm as Sammy repeats, slow and deadly serious “ _ Greg Frickard  _ brought him here? You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Gwendolyn says, positive and cheerful as ever and now Sammy understands that murderous look in Jack’s eyes when he looks at her. “He’s a regular member of my clientele."

Sammy makes it to her desk in two strides, grabbing Jack’s discarded scissors without a thought. “You can have all the hair you want for a glowing artifact that takes me to Greg fucking Frickard.”

Gwendolyn beams at him.

Five minutes later and the door jingling behind him, Sammy’s got an amulet that has an ethereal soft light pulsing very softly clenched so tightly in his fist that his hands are turning white.

“Sammy, what was that?” Jack asks the second the door shuts behind them and they’re out of Gwendolyn’s line of sight. He has a hand out as he gets in front of Sammy, mostly to stop him from keeping walking, but it quickly goes to Sammy’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Who the hell is Greg Frickard?”

“ _ Emily’s _ shitty fucking abusive excuse for an ex-boyfriend,” Sammy says, looking down at the amulet in his hands and feeling like he can finally do something worthwhile for once in his life. “And believe me. He’s  _ way  _ worse than mine.”

* * *

They start asking around when they get to a diner on the outskirts of Jamestown. Gwendolyn had said the amulet would start flashing when they were close, and the light had been getting whiter the further north they drove, but Boulder hadn't been far north enough.

They’d stopped by Ben’s apartment on the way out of Boulder, where they picked both Ben and Emily up. Ben had been confused, but immediately took what was going on very seriously, and had spent most of the drive with a comforting arm around Emily.

Emily, on the other hand, had been absolutely furious from the get go, snatching the amulet from Sammy’s hands and telling Jack to start fucking driving.

“It has to be close,” Ben tells her when Jack goes inside the diner to grab them all some burgers and to show the one picture of Greg Frickard that Emily still had on her phone to see if any of the workers recognized him. “It’s almost entirely white light now. We’re within a couple miles, I’m sure of it.”

“I hope so,” Emily glares at the amulet, holding it even more tightly. “That fuckhead. I can’t believe he did this.”

Sammy shifts uncomfortably in the front seat, equally hating the idea of the unholy duo of Greg and Ryan. Sammy knew perfectly well that Ryan was a pathetic excuse for a human being, let alone a boyfriend, but he never thought Ryan would stoop quite as low as Greg Frickard and his ideas.

“So - so he was the one who...who told Sammy’s…” Ben shoots Sammy a somewhat apologetic, somewhat terrified look through the mirror. “...Sammy’s ex about Gwendolyn? Why would he…?”

“Because he’s horrible?” Sammy says weakly with a laugh from the front seat, but Emily answers genuinely.

“Because he can’t blame me for leaving him, or filing a restraining order against him, or calling the police when he tried to scale the building to get in my window,” Emily says and Ben’s jaw drops just a bit, but he closes it quickly. “I’m still perfect in his eyes, and I’m coming back to him someday. So he blames Sammy.”

“I was the one who convinced her to file a restraining order,” Sammy explains to Ben. “And also the one who punched him in the face the last time I saw him. And I told him that he needed to get the hell out of town unless he wanted his life cut extremely short.”

“I thought it had worked,” Emily says faintly, shaking her head. She’d cried for most of the drive up, and Sammy hopes she doesn’t start again. He reaches toward the backseat to squeeze her hand, and she takes it. “I really thought he was gone for good.”

Sammy’s going to say something comforting, but then Jack opens the driver’s side door and gets in with a long sigh. 

“No food, dude?” Ben asks, and then immediately looks guilty, but Sammy just smiles over at him. 

“No,” Jack says. “The owner recognized the name. Apparently a new restaurant opened up here in town in January. Granny Frickard’s Froggery.”

“Shit,” Emily whispers from the backseat and Sammy groans.

“That frog-loving son of a bitch,” Sammy mutters under his breath. “You got directions?”

They drive for another five minutes before pulling up in front of what looks to be like an old, barn-shaped building strung up with lights with picnic tables half-full of customers. A sign hangs on the front door that says  _ All Are Welcome At the Froggery! Have a Hip Hoppity Day! _

Jack pulls into a parking space as they all stare up at the sign. 

“Well,” Emily’s the one who breaks the silence. “Let’s go get a table, guys.”

The amulet in Emily’s hand starts flashing the moment they all climb out of the car, and Emily passes it to Sammy as she starts leading the three of them inside. 

“You sure about this?” Sammy says quietly to her, struggling to keep up with how quickly she’s walking.

“Never more sure about anything in my life,” Emily says, though her face is white. Sammy puts an arm around her for half a second and presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. 

They walk through the front doors and past the stupid fucking sign to a spacious interior decked out in green and yellow with cartoon frogs on the wall. Sammy’s blood boils at the sight of them.

“Hi there, welcome to Granny Frickard’s Froggery, where every meal puts a pep in your step and a hop in your heart!” 

Sammy’s skin starts crawling before Greg even gets the first word out. He’d recognize Greg’s nasally little squeal anywhere.  He and Emily both turn to face Greg just as Jack and Ben get in the door behind them, and the four of them stare down the man behind the host’s stand.

Greg Frickard looks exactly the same as the last time Sammy saw him eight months ago, his over-gelled blond translucent hair shining in the artificial light. His horn-rimmed glasses slide down his nose as he recognizes Emily, his eyes growing wide.

“Emily,” he whispers with reverence, and Sammy wants to murder him. He steps out from behind the host’s stand slowly like Emily has him entranced or something ridiculous. “My beautiful darling - you’ve come back to me.”

“Hi Greg,” Emily says, voice sharp and steely in a way Sammy hasn’t heard it in ages. “Not so much.”

Greg seems to recognize for the first time that she’s not alone, and his lovestruck gaze becomes a distrustful glare when he sees Sammy. “Stevens. And who’re your new friends?”

“This is Ben and Jack,” Emily says, slow and measured. “Jack plays rugby and is going to beat you up if you take a step closer to me.”

Sammy chances a look back at Jack who immediately rolls up his sleeves as he glares at Greg, clearly ready to do so if the opportunity arises. 

“Darling, are you still angry with me?” Greg says to Emily, though his eyes go back to Jack every couple of seconds. “It’s been so long. I thought we would’ve gotten over that little kerfuffle.”

“The kerfuffle where I told you that you’d ruined my life and I never wanted to see you again?” Emily asks, raising her voice, causing the patrons of the restaurant to start to notice that something was going on. “That kerfuffle?”

“Dearest, please don’t make a scene,” Greg says, his smile getting a little more nervous. “And besides, if that were true - which it isn’t - you’re here! You’re seeing me again! You found me, why would you do that if not -”

“Because you didn’t stay away!” Emily spits in his direction. “And you were too much of a coward to come after me - so you came after Sammy. How about you fucking explain yourself? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Other than that you’re the worst piece of shit in the world,” Sammy inserts himself, glaring at Greg as well. 

Greg’s eyes flit nervously around the room, where more and more people are turning to look. “Look, dearest. I - I was just angry. You weren’t - you weren’t coming back, and I thought you would. Then I learned that Stevens here was living in your apartment -”

“How’d you even know that, anyway?” Emily interrupts. 

Greg doesn’t quite meet her eye. “Well, dear - you see - when I left town, I didn’t have ways to check up on you anymore. So - so I learned how to scry.”

“You  _ what _ ?” Ben’s the one who interrupts this time, surprisingly, his eyes going wide, and when Sammy turns to him, he quickly explains. “It’s magic so archaic that witches don’t even use it anymore. I didn’t even think anyone still knew how.”

“Gwendolyn would know,” Jack says quietly. “And she would tell  _ him _ .”

“Yeah, Gwendolyn, great lady!” Greg nods enthusiastically in Jack’s direction.

“Not a stellar recommendation for your character,” Jack glares back and Greg seems to shrink inside of himself again.

“Well, I knew Ryan would be pissed,” Greg says, looking back at Sammy. “And I wanted revenge on you just as badly as he did - if it weren’t for you, Emily and I would still be together! If it weren’t for your actions -”

“My actions of being friends with Emily and concerned for her safety when she started showing up with bruises?” Sammy says, slow and deadly serious. “When she said that you kept telling her that her only goal in life should be to be your wife and have your weaselly snot-nosed frog-loving babies? Yeah, I told her to get the hell out of there, you creep.”

“It is her  _ purpose  _ in life!” Greg says, and it comes out a bit like a wail and Sammy can hear Ben suck in a breath behind him.

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Ben says, somewhat quietly as if he wasn’t fully intending Greg to hear it but Greg wipes his eyes as he glares at Ben.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Ben Arnold!” Greg snaps and Ben jumps at the use of his full name. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you with her. Talking to her, making her laugh, putting your arm around her! That’s  _ my  _ girl you’re with! You don’t have any right!”

“You’re the one without any right, Greg,” Emily says, and she doesn’t even sound angry anymore. She doesn’t sound resigned either. She just says it matter of fact, like it’s a given statement. “No one has any right to me but myself. I’m my own person. And I left you. And I can do whatever the hell I want to. Stop coming after my friends. Stop stalking me. You might have found a way to do it without violating my restraining order - but unluckily for you, I have two friends who are well-versed in the paranormal. And we’ll find a way to stop you if you try again. I’m not your trophy wife. Stay the fuck out of my life.”

She takes a deep breath and turns around, and Sammy doesn’t think he’s ever been prouder of her. 

“What are you talking about? You’re the trophiest trophy wife to ever be trophy won -”

Greg barely gets the words out of his mouth before Emily’s turned back around, taken two long strides toward him, and punched him right in his squintly little face, practically knocking the creep to the ground.

Gasps ring out in the restaurant, but Sammy feels assured that they all heard enough of the argument to know that if anyone ever deserved to be clocked in the face, it was Greg fucking Frickard.

“Bye Greg,” Emily says, even-keel, turning back around, and walking straight past Sammy, Jack, and Ben and out of the restaurant. 

Sammy exchanges looks of shock with his friends, though there’s a gleeful look in Ben’s eyes when he looks over at Greg, crying as he tries to stumble back to his feet. The three of them follow Emily back out into the dusky night. 

Emily’s shaking as she stands in the parking lot, and Sammy hurries forward to comfort her, but surprisingly, Ben beats him to it, moving to hug her. She hugs him back tightly, and Sammy can hear little choked sobs. 

“It’s alright,” Ben says, whispering into her shoulder. Sammy and Jack hang back and Jack smiles at Sammy, putting a hand on his shoulder like Sammy also needs a bit of comforting right now. Maybe he does. 

Emily and Ben break apart a minute later, and Emily sniffles as she turns back to Sammy, but her voice is very clear.

“So,” she says, lifting her chin. “Are we going to Ryan’s now?”

* * *

Sammy tells Jack to stop the car when they’re a block away. His mouth tastes like copper and he’s having trouble keeping his head screwed on straight, but he’s definitely not going to let his friends be right outside. He doesn’t want them to see. 

“We should be closer by,” Emily leans up from the backseat to look Sammy in the eye. “If something happens -”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Sammy’s voice sounds assured and calm even though he is not. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll be gone for ten minutes.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Emily says, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly. “I know I said - and you really  _ should  _ confront what you’re going through instead of avoiding it - but you don’t have to. Not tonight, not like this. It’s late, you’ve been through so much today already…”

“If I don’t do it now, I’m never going to,” Sammy says, and he knows that for sure. Right now, he’s mainly operating off of adrenaline and anger and nothing else. “And you’re right. I need to confront him.”

“Do you want us to go with you?” Ben asks, soft and hesitant. Sammy never thought he’d have friends who would be willing to do that for him - of course there was Emily, but she was the only person Sammy had ever really been close to in his life. “Maybe it would be safer.”

Sammy shakes his head jerkily. “No. You guys never - you don’t ever need to know him.”

“Ten minutes,” Jack says softly, looking out at the houses on the block. It’s past nine now, almost fully dark, but street lights are lighting up the block. “You’re not back in ten minutes, and I’m following you.”

Sammy nods. He understands the concern, and even though the idea of Jack seeing Ryan made him feel lightheaded, he’d rather it was Jack than Emily or Ben. Because if Sammy wasn’t back in ten minutes, that would mean something bad.

He moves to get out of the car, but something stops him, and he sits there trying to regain control of his breath as his heart hammers in his chest. 

“You ever notice how literally every guy named Ryan is an asshole?” Ben interrupts, his tone light, and Emily shushes him. But Sammy grins back at him, weak but present, and laughs. Ben smiles, keeping going. “Seriously, Ryan’s like, the most common name ever. I know like fourteen Ryans, and they’re all dicks.”

Sammy rolls back his shoulders, mouths  _ thanks  _ to Ben in the mirror, and gets out of the car.

His heart’s in his throat as walks up to the house he lived in for a full year - God, he spent a full year here. Over two and a half years  _ with  _ Ryan, but a year living in this awful, claustrophobic house with him. 

Sammy walks up the two steps to the front stoop, and knocks on the door.

He knows Ryan’s home, can see the lights. It’s Monday night. Where else would he be?

It only takes ten more seconds before Ryan opens the door.

It’s only been two months, Sammy shouldn’t be surprised that Ryan looks exactly the same. Chiseled jaw, artfully styled hair, hardened eyes, and just a look at him makes Sammy feel horrible about himself. 

The same as ever.

Ryan’s eyes shift slightly when he sees Sammy. He doesn’t look surprised, but he clearly wasn’t expecting this either. Apparently Gwendolyn and Frickard hadn’t called ahead to warn him.

“Sammy,” Ryan says almost pleasantly. “What are you doing here?”

Shit, he sounds like he did that night, when he said that Sammy would be coming back to him eventually, because who else was ever gonna have him?

“You have my toaster,” Sammy says flatly and Ryan blinks at him. 

“What?”

“My toaster,” Sammy enunciates. “I didn’t grab it on my way out. I want it back.”

“You’re here…for your toaster,” Ryan says slowly, more than a little patronizingly, but Sammy doesn’t blink. 

“Yup,” Sammy says and Ryan steps aside.

Sammy’s skin prickles as he walks through the front hallway and toward the kitchen. He never thought he’d be back here again, and is counting down the seconds until he can leave for a final time. 

He unplugs the toaster from the wall where it’s sitting on a granite counter-top. Sammy had never liked the granite, it had always been freezing cold. 

“C’mon, Sammy.”

Sammy turns to see Ryan leaning against the kitchen door frame, a laughing look on his face like aren’t you cute? Aren’t you adorable, thinking you can just come back here, after what you did? Sammy knows the look well. 

“We both know you’re not here to get a toaster,” Ryan says. “Getting bored of Emily yet?”

“Not particularly,” Sammy says, shaking the toaster violently for half a second, letting the crumbs inside of fit fall onto the floor.

“C’mon, babe,” Ryan says, and Sammy’s fantasy about killing him with a shovel is suddenly all he can think about. But he definitely can’t do that. There are no shovels in the kitchen, for one thing. “You can say you missed me.”

Sammy’s jaw sets, and he laughs humorlessly.

“I  _ can _ ?” Sammy says. “Thanks for letting me know what I can do, Ryan. I really appreciate you telling me.”

Ryan gets that smug smile of his, and it’s what finally sets Sammy off.

“A ghost, huh?” Sammy says, shaking the toaster, not even looking at Ryan. “A fucking ghost?”

He looks back over and the smile seems to slide off of Ryan’s face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Sammy tells him. “You and Greg Frickard of all people decided to set a poltergeist on me for shits and giggles.”

“Sammy, what are you talking about? There’s no such thing as ghosts or poltergeists,” Ryan says, taking a step toward him, and Sammy automatically takes a step back. “Are you feeling alright? Are you on drugs?”

“Fuck you,” Sammy laughs becuase it’s almost funny how unbelievable Ryan is. “I can’t believe this. No, actually, I can. What better way to punish me for leaving? You knew I was an avowed skeptic who would never, ever believe I was being haunted. And you  _ also  _ knew that I’d never talk about my problems with anyone. It’s a foolproof way to torture me forever - wasn’t three years enough?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Ryan says, and he’s getting angry now, Sammy can see the way his hands are clenching. Good. Let Ryan be angry. At least now they were getting somewhere. “It wasn’t three years of  _ torture  _ \- I was your fucking boyfriend. I loved you, I watched out for you. Where the hell would you be without me?”

“Who knows?” Sammy laughs, and it’s not funny this time. Maybe without Ryan, he would’ve made something of himself by now. “God, Ryan. I was twenty-four when we met. You were my first real boyfriend. I wanted to - I wanted to be in love so badly, and you took advantage of that.”

“I did no such -”

“You were my fucking  _ boss _ , Ryan,” Sammy says, the words tasting so disgusting on his tongue after all these years. “You’re almost eight years older than me. You made me think I was so fucked up, so inexperienced, so shit at everything that no one else would ever wanna be with me. That you were the only chance I’d ever get at being in love. That’s fucked up, Ryan. Really fucked up. You gaslighting piece of -”

Ryan grabs a mug from the counter next to where he’s standing, and throws it.

It smashes against the kitchen cabinet about three feet from Sammy’s head. Sammy hadn’t even flinched when it shattered. 

He knew it wasn’t going to hit him. Throwing things was something Ryan did, and Sammy had always told himself that it was okay, that Ryan was always aiming away from him, not at him.

That should’ve been more concerning, back then. That he knew that Ryan had good aim.

They stare at each other in silence for half a minute, Ryan nearly shaking with anger, and Sammy finally laughs.

“You’re proving my point,” Sammy tells him. “Thanks for the poltergeist, Ryan. I’m grateful for it. Really. You probably would’ve haunted me a lot longer if you’d just left me alone - but now I’ve got some closure. I appreciate it.”

He moves to walk out of the kitchen, past Ryan, but Ryan steps in front of the doorway.

“Don’t you dare walk out of here,” Ryan says tightly. “What, you think your life’s gonna get better just because I’m not in it? Who, exactly, is going to -”

It’s very ironic that the pounding on the door starts right then. It makes Sammy kind of smile. He’s numb to most everything right now, especially the idea of clear and present danger, so he has to find things funny or he's going to panic.

“ _ Sammy _ ?”

Both Ryan and Sammy look in the direction of the door, Ryan with raised eyebrows, Sammy with a little relief. Jack must’ve heard the crash.

“What, you’ve got a new boyfriend, is that it?” Ryan laughs humorlessly. “He’ll get sick of you like everyone else does.”

“Geez, Ryan, if I’m such a pain in the ass, you’d better just let me get out of your hair,” Sammy says, and God, he should really stop being snarky in these situations. “And that’s my friend. He plays rugby and could probably kick your ass. But what he can  _ also  _ do is call the fucking cops if I don’t leave right now.”

They stare at each other for half a second, Ryan’s mouth set in a hard line before he finally says “Get the fuck out of here, then.”

Sammy doesn’t think he’s going to let him, not for real, but when he walks past him, Ryan doesn’t grab him. He lets him get to the front door and pull it open to see Jack staring at him, deflating in relief, his eyes wide. 

“Are you -” Jack starts to ask, but Sammy slams the door behind him first. 

“Let’s go,” Sammy says, adrenaline and regret pumping through him. He’d been too mean, Ryan was going to come after them, or else he’d call up Frickard or Gwendolyn and make some other deal to make Sammy’s life hell again. 

Jack catches up with him when Sammy gets to the sidewalk, and it’s only when Jack puts an arm around Sammy’s shoulder before moving in to hug him does Sammy realize he’s shaking.

“It’s okay,” Jack whispers, and his hug gets tighter. Sammy lets it happen, hooks the arm that isn't carrying a toaster around Jack’s waist, breathing him in and focusing on the warmth. “It’s gonna be alright. It's over now, you don't ever have to go back there again. God, I was so worried.”

“Where were you three years ago?” Sammy can’t help but ask, more than a little helpless. He usually has more boundaries than this.

“I wish I’d been here,” Jack surprises him with his answer, and Sammy holds even tighter before he remembers where they are.

“We’ve gotta get out of here - if he sees us, he’ll run out, he’ll think you’re -” Sammy says, and Jack squeezes tighter, just for a half a second, before letting go with some reluctance. He still keeps a hand on Sammy’s elbow, though.

“Let’s go,” Jack says determinedly, starting them down the sidewalk at a fast pace. “When I got out of the car, I told Ben to circle the block for as long as it took, so he could get there faster if -”

“It’s okay, let’s just - get further from the house and wait for him,” Sammy says, shooting a somewhat terrified look back, but Ryan hasn’t followed them yet. 

“What’s that?” Jack asks, looking down at the toaster, and Sammy can’t help the helpless laugh that bubbles up.

“My toaster,” he explains, and Jack grins at him. “Three years of that bullshit and all I got out of it’s a toaster that was actually mine to begin with, so I guess I didn’t get anything at all.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jack says, and then waves over at the car approaching from the distance that’s clearly theirs. “I wish - I don’t know what I wish.”

“It’s funny,” Sammy says, even though it isn’t. “I never really noticed how bad it was until - until Emily got in an even worse situation than me. I always made excuses for him. He’d never hit me. But Greg didn’t hit Emily either. At first.”

He feels Jack’s arm go around his shoulder, and he leans in, just enough, just enough to feel like he can keep talking. 

“But he took away everything...everything good I ever felt, he made it about him,” Sammy says, the words spilling out now. “Shit, I don’t even think I ever loved him, I just thought I’d be alone for the rest of my life if I didn’t have him.”

“That’s not true,” Jack says, and he’s surprised at how firm his voice is. “One shitty guy isn’t the whole world. You - anyone would be lucky -”

The car pulls up next to them and Jack cuts himself off when Ben springs out of the front seat with alarming speed.

“Are you okay?” Ben says, practically running over to hug Sammy. Sammy has to practically catch him, he collides with him so quickly in a hug. “We heard the crash - I was worried - is everything -?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Sammy says, and almost means it. He makes eye contact with Emily over the top of Ben’s head as she climbs out of the passenger’s seat. Her eyes are probably more terrified than anyone’s, and he lets go of Ben to hug her, too. 

Emily doesn’t say anything, just holds him close, and Sammy appreciates it. She knows he doesn’t need any words right now, not from her. She was there to see the whole thing. 

“Are you sure you’re…?” Ben says anxiously as they all pile back in the car again with Jack and Sammy up front, Emily looking terrified  in the direction of Ryan’s place, as if he’s still going to come out after them. And he could. The anger could be building up slowly. It’s best to get out of here now.

“Really, Ben, it’s fine,” Sammy says as he leans his head back against his headrest, looking down at the toaster in his hands, and deciding in an instant that he doesn’t want to keep it. “You want a toaster?”

Ben frowns as Sammy passes it back to him. “What - did you take it from him?”

“It was mine first,” Sammy explains. “You can have it. I don’t want it.”

“Okay,” Ben says slowly, cradling the toaster into his chest. 

They all sit in silence for awhile after that, Sammy at a loss for what to say. A thank you sounds too trite. But he doesn’t know what’s going to come next. The poltergeist is, presumably, gone. Ryan’s done pulling his shit, at least for now. Greg will probably never be done pulling his shit, but that’s a problem for another day. 

“Well...thanks for going above and beyond the call of duty,” Sammy says into the silence, somewhat hesitant. “Probably not your ordinary ghostbusting scenario. Did I crack the top three, Jack?”

He smiles weakly, and Jack half-grins back, looking dead tired but still relieved. “You’re at number one now for sure.”

“Great,” Sammy says, shaking his head. “I guess - bill us your fees in the morning?” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Ben says at the same time as Jack says “Sammy, this is pro bono for sure.”

“Pro bono ghostbusting?” Emily smiles from the backseat. “I bet that’s the first time that’s happened.”

“Think of it as the family and friends discount,” Ben declares. “Even if you weren’t family and friends to begin with, you are now.”

Sammy turns around to grin at Ben for real, and Bean grins back, face open and happy again, like it should always be.

“I’ll drop you guys off at home,” Jack says. “But don’t think you’re getting out of this whole family and friends thing. Take on shitty exes together and you’re friends for life, alright?”

“Alright,” Emily says affectionately from the backseat, and Sammy nods at Jack, who smiles back. 

“Why go home, though?” Ben pipes up. “It’s not even ten yet, and I bet none of us are sleeping tonight. Let’s go to a movie or something.”

“On a Monday night?” Sammy says sardonically front seat and Ben beams.

“Don’t know about you, dude, but I’m calling in sick tomorrow for sure,” Ben says. “But let’s go to a romcom or something fun and cute and not at all stressful! C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Ben…” Jack starts off admonishing, but Sammy reaches over to pat his shoulder.

“We are all very accustomed to Ben’s baby chipmunk ways,” Sammy reassures him and Emily giggles. “C’mon, let’s go to a movie.”

Ben grins, hugging Sammy’s toaster to his chest. 

They end up at the latest showing for the most recent Marvel movie, Ben complaining about how he hadn’t thought to bring his refillable popcorn bucket. Still, they get popcorn and milk duds and sit in the back row together, coming in just as the previews start.

“Brr, it’s chilly in here,” Emily says, laughing a little as they make their way up the stairs. “I always bring a sweatshirt to the movies, but -”

“Here, you can have mine,” Ben says, and Sammy has to smile to himself as Emily pulls on Ben’s sweatshirt as the four of them sit down together. He and Jack exchange an eye-roll. 

Sammy is somewhat aware of how many times his and Jack’s hands brush when they get popcorn - well, really aware, he’s paying much more attention to that than the plot of the movie - and when the popcorn runs out, the way Jack’s hand brushes against his on the divider. 

Sammy tries not to overthink it when he puts his hand on top of Jack’s. He doesn’t think Jack’s going to do it first, even though he wishes he would, and - and he wants Jack to know. Know what, he isn’t entirely sure yet. Right now, it’s that he wants Jack to know that Sammy wants him close.

Jack twists his hand to squeeze Sammy’s with it. They don’t look at each other, but they stay that way until the credits start rolling.


End file.
